


tell it to the stars

by justadreamfox



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: College AU, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, everybody is a soft cupcake including Andrew, everybody is better at communication including Andrew, no exy, no magic, sex happens eventually but mostly pining and romance, shameless andriel and pynch romance, slightly different character histories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justadreamfox/pseuds/justadreamfox
Summary: Ronan and Neil are roommates and foster brothers. Adam and Andrew are roommates and chosen family. They all live in the same apartment building and go to college...you can see where this is going.
Relationships: Adam Parrish & Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Ronan Lynch & Neil Josten, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 162
Kudos: 329





	1. Neighbors

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my super indulgent Pynch and Andreil crossover AU of goodness. 
> 
> I've moved and changes dates, relationships, timelines, and histories to suit my fancy - so, I beg you to suspend reality my darlings and just roll with it.
> 
> This is also my first time doing this fanfic thing, so THANK YOU for reading!
> 
> Finally, the biggest thank you to my BetaFish Jenn - aka @grownupYAFlover - for reading and rereading and cheerleading. <3

Ronan started awake, frozen in place, sweat trickling down his neck, fists clenched at his sides. It felt like his soul had dropped from two storeys up and collided with his bed, and as he blinked at the wan street light filtering through his bedroom window he forced his shallow breath to smooth out, to deepen, to center him in his body.

It was the same dream every night. Kavinsky, perched on top of that ridiculous Mitsubishi, a flaming bottle in one hand and a wickedly twisted grin on his face. Ronan stood braced ten feet away, leaning forward, every muscle straining. In the dream this was as close as he could get. Sometimes he ran towards him, the dream stopping him twenty, thirty, fifty feet - yards - no, eons away from Kavinsky. Sometimes he drove up in his shark-nosed BMW, a hand-me-down from his dead father. Sometimes he floated out of the sky on a pair of impossible black wings. No matter how he arrived, the ending always ended how it had ended in real life: Kavinsky dropped the grin, and then he dropped the molotov cocktail at his own feet, and then he exploded into flames. 

“Fuck.” Ronan finally found some movement and rolled to his side, pressing his face into his sweat-damp pillow. “Fucking hell,” he muttered. He rolled a bit more and dragged a hand along the edge of his bed until his fingers found the phone tucked between his mattress and bed frame and he glared at the screen blearily. 3am. Well, that was that night then.

Ronan grabbed a pair of crumpled jeans from the floor and pulled them on, not bothering with a shirt, and padded towards the kitchen. He hesitated when he saw his brother leaning against the counter, staring at the wall, a cup of something steaming in his hands - he paused, wondering if he shouldn’t intrude, but before he could decide Neil looked up at him and half smiled, “this is getting comical,” he said. 

“That’s certainly one way to describe it,” Ronan grunted back at him, coming the rest of the way into their shared kitchen to fill a glass of water from the sink. “Dreamt of your dad then?”

Neil peered at him over the rim of his mug. “Yeah,” he breathed softly, looking back at Ronan steadily. “Kavinsky?” he asked. 

Ronan nodded, downing the rest of his water and abandoning the glass by the sink. He considered Neil for a moment. “I’m gonna hit the studio to paint,” he said, and reached out slowly towards Neil’s head. When Neil nodded, Ronan ruffled his hair affectionately.

“I’m going for a run,” Neil stated as he pushed his mug next to Ronan’s glass on the counter. 

“No fucking duh,” Ronan snorted. 

~

Neil tightened the strings of his hoodie as he took the apartment stairs down to the parking lot below. North Carolina didn’t get as cold as some of the places he and his mom had lived, but at 3am in October the air was crisp and cutting against his face. He immediately fell into a light jog, picking up speed as he came around the corner and hit the downtown sidewalk proper. 

This particular dream had surprised him, he hadn’t had it since he and Ronan had moved to Raleigh and to the little historic apartment near State’s campus. Neil’s father was dead, he’d finally been able to stop hiding, he’d finally had a chance to figure out a life for himself. He had a new family, a track scholarship, actual friends - well, teammates. He had his own bed, in his own room, in an apartment in a new city - a fresh start, and a best friend - no, a brother - who had his back. 

Neil and Ronan had both ended up orphans at 16, thrown together in foster care, and adopted within a year by their foster parents Wymack and Abby. That was almost three years ago, and Neil struggled to believe it was all real, that he was safe, that this was his life. Any time he forgot for even a moment, relaxed, smiled...the dreams came back to remind him and drag him back into the black. He pushed himself harder, legs throbbing, lungs aching as he ran through the darkened downtown, and eventually turned back towards his new home. 

When Neil reached the parking lot below his small apartment building, the sky was just beginning to show signs of light, and his legs were beginning to show signs of giving out. He slowed to a jog and then a walk, and finally just sat down in the middle of the lot. 

~

Andrew gazed down at the asphalt where his neighbor had flopped onto his back, clearly having blown his legs out on another of his early morning runs. 

“Idiot,” he said on an exhale of smoke, tapping lightly on the roof of the giant SUV he was sitting on and taking another drag on his cigarette. 

Neil blew his unruly bangs out of his eyes and looked up, and even in the early morning light his intense gaze startled Andrew. Every fucking time. You think he’d get used to it, as often as they crossed paths like this. Andrew would walk home from his bartending gig at Legends, his veins filled with throbbing house music, and crawl up on the top of his Suburban to smoke and decompress and watch the sky. Neil would return from his run, slow to a walk, and collapse. He knew Andrew was there, and he always waited for Andrew to start the conversation. Every fucking time. 

The first time he’d watched Neil take off for a 3am run he’d thought something was wrong, that someone must be chasing him, because what idiot goes running balls out in the city in the middle of the night? But Andrew had quickly realized dude was dressed in clothes made for running and that the insanity was intentional. 

That first time when Neil returned from his run, and flopped on the asphalt, Andrew had scared the shit out of him by calling down a “hey.” Neil had leapt to his feet, spinning around, until finally spotting Andrew perched above him, sitting very still. Andrew had watched him gulp down an unreasonable amount of panic, watched the face of this kid who had moved into his building last week carefully compose itself into a mask as his breath caught up with his brain. 

Well that’s interesting, he had thought. 

After that it had become a thing, really, because although Neil’s dark-thirty runs weren’t a nightly occurrence, Andrew’s SUV roof sitting was. Which meant every time Andrew crawled up onto the roof of his car, he secretly hoped he’d hear the apartment door swing open, hear his neighbor’s feet hitting the pavement, knowing he’d wait until the kid came back from whatever he was running from. Over the last six months it had become a thing. Their thing. It was nothing. This was nothing. Andrew kept telling himself that, kept hoping he was wrong.

“Idiot,” Andrew said again.

Neil didn’t say anything, just lay there looking up at him until Andrew sighed, stubbed out his cigarette, and slid down the side of the Suburban, his feet hitting the ground next to Neil’s head. He sat beside Neil, propping his elbows on his knees. Pulling two cigarettes out of the pack in his hoodie pocket, he lit them and handed one to Neil.

Andrew threw his gaze to the sky for a moment, then turned to look down at Neil. The guy’s auburn curls were tangled and wild down one side of his face, covering one of his shockingly blue eyes, and the burn scars on his cheek were turned away from the light. His sculpted cheekbones caught the early morning shadows and moved in a distracting way as he took a drag on his cigarette. He was beautiful. Andrew hated him for it. Or he hated himself, he wasn’t sure. 

“It’s kinda stupid to smoke when you’re a runner,” Andrew noted.

“Maybe I’m stupid,” Neil huffed. Andrew eyed him, but ignored that comment. “Whatever, I don’t really smoke,” Neil said. “Anyway, it doesn’t count when they aren’t my cigarettes.”

“Liar,” Andrew said, but it was almost affectionate. They’d had this conversation before. This same one. More than once. Andrew lay back on the asphalt, his head still turned to Neil.

Neil smiled a little, and looked back at Andrew. “I’m a liar,” he agreed. “But I don’t lie to you.”

Andrew stared at him, his expression blank. “You don’t even really know me,” he managed, because he wouldn’t say what he really wanted to say. “Maybe you should lie.”

Neil shrugged, his shoulders moving along the ground in his oversized hoodie. “I don’t have to lie because you don’t ask me any questions,” he said. “That’s why I like you.”

“And if I did?” Andrew asked. “Ask you questions. Would you lie?”

Neil turned his head back to the sky, and took another drag on his cigarette before he closed his eyes and sighed. “Why don’t you ask and find out?”

Andrew considered Neil for a moment. The kid’s eyelashes were pressed together, a darker red than his hair, cigarette smoke curling up around his face. There were fucking birds starting to chirp and more neighbors were going to start appearing, heading to class or work or wherever people headed to. He wanted this...whatever this was...so badly. He slid his hand over towards Neil’s and bumped the back of his knuckles, resting his fingers there for a moment before pulling them away. Neil’s eyes fluttered open, he turned back towards Andrew. 

“Go somewhere with me,” Andrew said. 

“Now?” Neil furrowed his brow.

“No. Tonight. Now it’s fucking cold, and I have to sleep first. Meet me here at 8.” 

“Okay,” Neil smiled. They both got to their feet and walked back into the building shoulder to shoulder, but not touching. 

~

Adam had woken briefly when he heard his roommate come in the front door, straining his good ear to make sure the sounds he heard were actually Andrew before he drifted back to sleep. A few hours later his alarm prodded him back awake, Adam smashed the thing to stop the noise, and then dragged himself from bed. It was Sunday, which meant no class today. It also meant he’d worked all day yesterday at one of his three jobs, and would work all day today at another. And he was tired, because really, Adam was always tired. 

When he’d roomed with Andrew at Westbrook Home for Wayward Youth, the asshole had given him so much shit about wanting college, about wanting something different, about a life that didn’t have trailer parks and abuse and poverty and...not enough of anything. The idea of a different life was a pipe dream, Andrew had told him, had taunted him for it, but Adam had refused to give it up. 

They were together for two years; partnering kids up was part of the “program” and they had been stuck with each other. Day in and day out, they had fallen into a rhythm - Andrew impassively keeping an eye on Adam over the top of his dystopian novels as Adam tirelessly threw himself into his schoolwork. Getting more comfortable with each other, getting to know each other. Learning to have each other’s backs. Adam saw it as he and Andrew against the world, but then, Adam had been desperate for a friend.

Westbrook kids had the option of finishing high school online, or passing their GED before they were basically kicked out to the streets on their 18th birthday. It was part of the “program.” Andrew had passed his GED at 16 and then spent the next two years keeping the other delinquents off of Adam’s back as he wrote essays on Romeo & Juliet, conjugated latin verbs, and balanced chemistry equations. 

Adam knew that Andrew just saw him as a distraction, something to focus on until he could get out of Westbrook and get on with whatever his life was. Adam knew that Andrew couldn’t possibly give a fuck about him - Andrew didn’t give a fuck about anyone, wouldn’t let anyone touch him, barely spoke to the other kids at Westbrook unless it was with his fists. Andrew didn’t need Adam.

When Andrew had been released several months before Adam, Adam knew that he’d never see him again, and he tried hard not to care. Told himself he didn’t care. He’d almost convinced himself, prepared himself for disappointment, and then on his 18th birthday he’d walked out of Westbrook and saw Andrew leaning against a giant beat-up white Suburban with a blank face and an open door. Adam had smiled, drawing in his first deep breath in two years, and crawled into the passenger seat of his friend’s car. They’d put California permanently behind them and driven across the country to Raleigh, North Carolina - where Andrew had somehow secured Adam an interview for a scholarship at the State university there. 

That’d been three years ago, and now, two years into the business program at NC State, Adam woke every morning exhausted from working, working, always working. But Adam woke happy, grateful, and determined.


	2. Mural

It was 10am, other students were sleepily wandering into the huge building that housed the campus art studios, and Ronan was out of fucks to give. He was just plain tired - and he was tired of this dream. Art school had seemed like a great idea - particularly when Neil had gotten the track scholarship at NC State and Ronan had discovered they had a pretty damned good art program. He liked to paint, great slashes of color on giant canvases that created a symphony of silent sound. It soothed him - or it used to. But this dream dictated every line, every color, every movement of his brush until the memory of Kavinsky burned on the canvas, burned out of his mind, his fingers, his heart, and finally let him banish the pain of his nightmares.

Dr. Jordan Hennessy, his professor, had cornered him after a class last month and tactfully noted that his paintings showed a touch of genius, but that he could choose another subject matter any time now. Ronan had less-than-tactfully retorted that he was “fucking trying lady.” Hennessy had raised one eyebrow, then the other, and unceremoniously dragged Ronan into her office, handed him a set of keys to the shared student studio, and told him to sort his shit out before the end of the semester.

Staring at the canvas now, Ronan knew it was good. Kavinsky standing on the whisper white car, the fire licking his fingertips, the grin was a slash across his angular face...it was perfect. The whole thing was gorgeous. Gorgeous and rotten. Ronan slammed his hand into the canvas, smearing the still wet paint of the flames across the body of the Mitsubishi. Rubbing the paint across his black jeans, he cleaned his brushes and pushed his way out of the studio and into the sun. He needed a latte, he needed a distraction, and he knew exactly where to get both.

~

Adam’s Sunday job was at a coffee shop, and it was the only job he didn’t hate. He had nothing to do with the coffee really, his job was baking. He didn’t have to talk, he didn’t have to think, he just measured and sifted and kneaded and covered himself in flour and silence in the warmth of the kitchen in the Brown Dog coffee shop. He made cookies and scones, rolled cinnamon rolls and layered croissants. Really it was Adam’s Sunday and Wednesday job, because he didn’t have classes on Wednesdays and it took more than one day to bake enough for the week - the Brown Dog wasn’t the only coffee shop within walking distance from the campus dorms, but Adam’s work ensured that it was in the highest demand.

High demand or not, Sunday mornings at 10:30am were slow on any college campus, and the Brown Dog was almost empty when the doorbell chimed. The barista was outside on a break, so Adam dusted his hands across his apron and walked to the front, pausing for the smallest moment when he saw who it was. Ronan Lynch. That’s how he’d thought of the guy ever since his mail had been miss-delivered to his and Andrew’s place and he’d walked up two flights of stairs to drop it at his neighbor’s door. Ronan. Lynch. Just like on the envelope.

Adam was tall, but Ronan was taller by a couple of inches. Hair dark and cropped close, punishing blue eyes, and stark lines of a blackline tattoo creeping out of his collar. The day he and Neil had moved into their apartment building had been sweltering, and Ronan’s black tank had freed even more of those stark lines...feathers and beaks and claws, but only the edges. Adam wanted to see the rest. To trace the lines, to...fuck, get your shit together man.

Adam didn’t know what his problem was - he wasn’t even that into dudes. He’d dated his friend Blue his first year at State, and when that petered out he’d kinda hooked up here and there with one of Andrew’s bartender friends from the club. It’d been hot, and he craved the touch, but neither Blue nor bartender dude had really been worth jeopardizing his grades or the precious few hours of sleep he got between his many jobs that paid his half of the rent and kept him in books and groceries. But. Ronan. Fuck.

Adam internally cursed Henry for being outside on a smoke break and forced himself to smile at Ronan. “Hey man, what can I do for you?” Ronan grinned at him and held out his fist. Adam hesitated for half a second before he offered a fist bump to his neighbor.

“A latte, hot,” Ronan said, “And...whatever you baked this morning.”

“Um, yeah,” Adam blushed, he knew he was blushing. Ronan’s grin widened. “This morning was cranberry scones, and some snickerdoodles…” Adam trailed off. Did he just say snickerdoodles to Ronan fucking Lynch?

“A scone then,” Ronan replied, cocking his head at him. “What time are you done here today?”

“Why?” The question was out of Adam’s mouth before he could stop it. He was startled, and he sounded startled. He winced. “I’m done at three.”

“Cool,” Ronan still had his head tilted to the side. “I’ve got a shit ton of work to do on some art history analysis or something. I wonder…” Ronan hesitated glancing down, and then caught Adam’s eyes again. “I’m gonna hang here to get this done, and wait for you. You cool with that? I mean, if you aren’t doing anything after work.”

Ronan’s gaze was steady and Adam struggled to maintain it. He couldn’t help himself, “Why?” He asked again.

Confusion washed across Ronan’s face and then just as quickly was gone, replaced again by that grin. “Okay fuck, whatever man. I must have misconstrued the situation. I can just take that shit to go and it’s all good.”

Ronan pulled out his wallet and started flipping through bills. Adam considered how tired he really was, how much homework he should do before class tomorrow, how Andrew would have made food and left it waiting for him, how he didn’t want to hurt himself against the sharp edges of Ronan Lynch. But the Ronan standing in front of him didn’t look like a knife. He looked like something a guy could lean on. He looked like home. Adam took a deep breath, and before he could stop himself, reached out to put his hand on top of Ronan’s. The touch stilled them both, and neither one beathed a word as they looked at Adam’s rough hand on top of Ronan’s.

“Don’t.” Adam finally said. “Don’t go. Wait for me. We’ll hang.”

Ronan nodded and went to settle into one of the corner tables to work and to wait, typing away at ‘some art history analysis or something,’ occasionally staring off into space and absentmindedly chewing on the leather bands around his wrist. It was entirely and completely distracting, and Adam cast furtive glances at him in between prepping dough and washing pans and covering for Henry - who Adam was beginning to think was taking so many damn smoke breaks on purpose.

The third time Ronan looked up to catch Adam staring at him, Adam didn’t blush and turn away but held his gaze: he had just realized that when he had been looking at Ronan these past six months, Ronan had been looking back. Ronan’s ever present grin slowly faded into something…more. Adam’s breath caught and he tore his eyes away to look at the clock. One hour. He could do anything for one hour - including not look at Ronan until it was time for him to clock out. He turned to grab a bag of flour and focused on the damned snickerdoodles.

~

Light faded early in October but there were a couple of hours of daylight left in the day, and though 3am had been chilly and pretending at Winter, by 3pm the sun had warmed the air and the bright blue sky glowed down at them softly. Ronan cut the engine on the BMW and glanced at Adam in the passenger seat. This had seemed like a grand idea this morning when he was running away from Kavinsky and his canvas and his nightmares, but suddenly his nerves showed up and thrummed in the back of his head.

Maybe it was all in his head...maybe this elegant kid with the hooded blue eyes and too-long sandy hair who had snared Ronan’s attention wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe this was a stupid fucking idea. Ronan was full of stupid fucking ideas. Unable to figure out what to say now that he’d managed to actually get Adam in his car, Ronan simply sat and anxiously studied the brick wall in front of them. Real smooth dude.

The worry crease between Adam’s eyebrows made a brief appearance and then smoothed out as he glanced back at Ronan. “Okay,” Adam said, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the windshield “What am I missing here?”

The wall was ten feet wide and eight feet tall, the side of a tiny abandoned carriage house building in the warehouse district. It was painted white, though other colors were scattered and splashed in various states of fade along the grass and concrete below. Ronan buried his nerves deep. “This is mine,” he said, “the wall. Well, the whole building really, but mostly the wall.” He tipped his gaze back at Adam. “Want to paint it with me?”

Adam smiled, nodded, and got out of the car. Ronan blew out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and followed him. Adam helped Ronan gather buckets of house paint and brushes from the trunk, and they made several trips to bring the ten colors over to the wall before prying tops off with a flat screwdriver. “Do we have a plan?” Adam asked.

Ronan grinned back at him, “I pretty much never have a plan,” and he dunked his brush into the bright blue paint and flung it against the wall without looking. Splatters of blue splashed everywhere, including on Ronan, and some on Adam’s face, like cerulean freckles, adding to the permanent dusting he already had. Adam froze for a moment, and then with a grin of his own dunked his brush in a leafy-looking green and ran a stripe down the middle of Ronan’s blue splash. It was gloriously bright against the blue splash and the white background.

Ronan watched Adam’s grin blossom into a full fledged smile, watched him as he slashed another stripe parallel to the first one. Adam laughed, and Ronan realized in all the times they’d passed each other at their apartment building, all the times he’d seen him on campus, all the times he’d - purposefully - dropped into the Brown Dog for a latte, he had never actually heard Adam laugh. It was the most beautiful fucking sound Ronan had ever heard, and as they painted messily, laughing, and with no plan, Ronan’s brush didn’t once try to drag his hand in the shape of flames or Kavinsky or a white Mitsubishi.

Two hours later Adam and Ronan considered the explosion of color they had created. Blue and green curled and crawled across the wall like leaves on trees in a magical and chaotic forest. Wet lavender dripped down between the edges like dusk or dawn, and at some point Adam had dedicated himself to black lines swirling out of the corners that looked like feathers and claws and beaks. Splattered yellow glowed like fireflies across it all, catching the light of the streetlights that had started to blink on behind them. Ronan looked down at the buckets of paint and dropped his brush. “Well that’s fucked,” he mused, noting the colors mixed and mingled across buckets and on top of lids.

Adam dropped his brush next to Ronan’s and looked at him. Ronan looked back. The blue had dried across Adam’s nose a while ago, and splatters of green and yellow and lavender and black had joined it to create a rainbow of freckles. Ronan reached out and ran his fingers across Adam’s cheek, smearing a few of the still-damp black splatters across to his ear. He paused, breath caught, staring at this beautiful, strange man. Adam.

Adam stared back, and he didn’t pull away as Ronan’s hand slid past his ear, behind his neck, carded through his hair. Ronan growled softly in the back of his throat, pushing Adam up against the wall and leaning in close until his lips were just a breath away from Adam’s. A huff escaped Adam’s mouth as his hands reached for the edges of Ronan’s shirt, tangling there for a moment, then snaking their way underneath and against Ronan’s skin. Ronan stilled, breathing in Adam’s air in shallow gasps.

They were forehead against forehead, noses pressed together, paused for a moment, for infinity. Ronan thought he might die, against this wall, Adam pinned beneath him, his lips...his lips right there, parted. Waiting. Ronan slid his other hand back around to the front of Adam’s neck, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He pulled back a little and pressed his thumb at the corner of Adam’s mouth, gazing into his eyes, asking the question. Adam looked back at him intently, intensely, his breath hanging on Ronan’s thumb. Gently, softly, magically his lips parted further, and then Ronan’s mouth was on his, he was kissing Adam, and Adam was kissing him back, and he was flying.


	3. Complications

Neil wasn’t great at remembering to feed himself as he’d gotten into the habit of relying on Ronan to show up with food or make food or order him to eat on a regular basis. But practice today had been a bit brutal on his already exhausted legs and he knew he needed the calories if he was to have any chance of functioning around Andrew tonight. Andrew hadn’t hinted at what they were getting into, and Neil hadn’t asked, and if it didn’t involve food Neil knew he would be fucked. So he threw together a sandwich and was just wolfing down the last bite when Ronan walked into the apartment with a large brown paper bag that gave off odors hinting at French fries and other indulgent goodness.

“You’re eating,” Ronan noted, surprised. He lifted up the bag, “I got us burgers and shit, you still hungry or what?”

“I’m fine,” Neil hesitated and continued, “I’m going out with that neighbor, Andrew, that lives downstairs. I didn’t know what time you were coming back so. I ate.” Neil eyed Ronan, gaging his reaction. They were the same age, but Ronan had always been more of the big brother, shielding Neil from the worst of the stares and questions when he’d first shown up at their foster house with scars on one side of his face, raw burns on the other, and every bit of skin on his arms and hands covered in bandages. 

Ronan had figured out quickly that Neil didn’t like to be touched, and he had enforced those unspoken rules with their foster family. Neil had figured out quickly that Ronan needed someone to protect, and somehow that someone was him. It had been mutually beneficial happenstance, it had turned into real affection, and then they had become brothers. Looking back, he knew it would have been a lot harder to settle in at his new home without Ronan. It might have been impossible. Neil wasn’t overly demonstrative - he didn’t know how to be - but he was fiercely loyal to Ronan and he didn’t want him upset. 

Neil realized this was the first time he was really going somewhere socially with someone who wasn’t Ronan of his own volition - at least that wasn’t related to necessary interactions with his teammates. It wasn’t that he was timid or that he hadn’t had offers to hang...he just hadn’t wanted to before now. Which was interesting, he thought idly. 

Ronan eyed him, hiding any obvious reaction. “Short guy, blond, in the armbands all the time? He’s roommates with Adam.” This was a statement, not a question, and - did Ronan just blush??? - Neil thought it a little strange but he reacted to the first part instead. 

“He’s not that short,” Neil countered, even though he knew Andrew kinda was, “and actually, I’ve been talking to him pretty regularly since we moved in here.”

Ronan regarded Neil for a moment, and Neil could see his brother struggle to bite down his questions. Neil had never hinted that he’d ever said more than two words to Andrew. Finally Ronan snorted, “Yeah sure man - he’s shorter than you and you’re a fucking smurf,” he started pulling his greasy food out of the bag and tossing it on the counter. “Anyway, whatever, just charge your stupid phone and take it with you, okay? I don’t like the look of that guy.”

Neil knew Ronan well enough to not take his comments for anything other than what they were, which was overprotective brotherly concern. Neil could take care of himself, and Ronan knew that. Not for the first time Neil wished that he could go back and burn Kavinsky down himself. Ronan was all soft heart tucked away inside sharp edges and hidden behind a carefully careless grin. “Whatever, like you’re one to talk about people liking the look of a guy. Old ladies cross the street when they see you coming. It’s a tragedy.” 

“Fuck you,” Ronan said, but he grinned and carefully bumped Neil’s shoulder with his knuckles. “Just charge your phone.” Neil grinned back and headed to his room to search for his charger.

~

Ronan was sitting down on the couch with his meal, exhausted and exhilarated from the day, from Adam, when there was a solid knock at the door. The sound startled Ronan, and he turned to stare in surprise. Ronan realized that no one had ever knocked on their door, and for a brief thrilling moment he hoped it might actually be Adam. Ronan finally laughed at himself quietly, ran a hand through his short hair, and walked over to open the door. 

Andrew stood on the other side, dressed entirely in black, his ever-present armbands peeking out from the tight sleeves of his shirt, two glossy shopping bags in his hand. The man started to speak and then froze, taking in Ronan’s face, and then pressed his lips together tightly, his amber eyes glinting. Ronan was instantly annoyed. “What?”

Andrew inclined his head subtly. “You’ve got paint all over you,” he said, his voice low and...accusatory? The fuck, Ronan thought. Before he could reply Ronan heard Neil come up behind him and open the door wider. Neil grabbed Ronan’s elbow and squeezed firmly. The touch immediately snuffed out the anger Ronan was building up to, and he turned to Neil, raising an eyebrow. Neil didn’t give away touches gratuitously. 

“He’s always covered in paint. I thought we were meeting in the parking lot?” Neil tilted his head to invite Andrew in and Ronan grunted and headed back for the couch and his burger. 

If Neil was fine, Ronan was fine...but Ronan still didn’t trust this pint-sized emo-goth wanna-be any farther than he could throw him. Actually, Ronan didn’t trust him even that much - he was pretty sure he could throw the punk pretty far. Ronan bit into his burger grumpily.

Andrew handed Neil the bags. “Put those on.” Neil pulled a bundle of dark clothing out of one, staring at Andrew wordlessly. Andrew glanced at the back of Ronan’s head with a hint of frustration and then his face smoothed out. “I’ve only ever seen you in oversized worn out running clothes and sneakers. This will be better for where we’re going.” He shrugged, “I wasn’t sure if you had other things to wear.”

Neil hesitated for several moments before turning and heading into his room. Ronan pressed his lips tightly together, but didn’t say a word. Neil returned shortly in dark grey skinny jeans, a fitted black hoodie with a tailored wool three-button coat pulled over it, finished off with black leather boots disappearing up into the tight cuffs of his jeans. Ronan almost choked on his food. He started coughing. 

Neil grimaced at Ronan and then at Andrew. “That bad?” He asked. He tugged a little at the hem of the coat, and his fingers involuntarily pulled at the edges of the hoodie sleeves underneath. Ronan knew he reflexively tried to cover his scars when he was uncomfortable. 

“You don’t have to wear that if you don’t want to,” Ronan said with an annoyed glance at Andrew, “but shit kid, you look amazing.” Ronan wasn’t fucking with him - Neil never paid much attention to his appearance, and half of what he wore was hand me downs left at their parent’s home from other foster kids that had been in and out before Neil and Ronan came along. Neil looked good. Better than good. Ronan told him so again. Neil grinned, tugged at his bangs, then headed for Andrew.

Andrew was still standing just inside the door, staring at Neil. Ronan recognized the stark appreciation on Andrew’s face, and he had to fight to shove his concern back down to a manageable level. It was fucking obvious that this guy was into Neil - did Neil realize? He said he’d been talking to Andrew for months - though Ronan wasn’t sure when. They hadn’t talked about it specifically - because Ronan wasn’t going to bring it up if Neil didn’t - but Ronan was pretty sure Neil didn’t swing. Yet for whatever reason Neil seemed to be okay with this - whatever it was - and Ronan had no choice but to trust Neil. The two almost made it out the door when Ronan barked out, “Neil! Phone!”

Neil darted back into his room, and then headed for the front door again, waving his phone at Ronan. Ronan grunted and the door shut. Ronan started to reach for his food, and then froze when his eyes lit upon the splotches of paint on the back of his hand. Oh. Andrew’s focus on his paint-smeared face. Oops. He’d just sent Adam back to his own apartment with a matching face. And, Ronan was pretty sure Neil just left for a date with Adam’s roommate - whether Neil realized it was a date or not. This was...Hm. Awkward. Ronan flopped back on the couch, abandoning his food. He bit his bottom lip, still feeling those kisses as he huffed out a surprised laugh. Fuck.


	4. First Date

It was already dark out as Andrew and Neil descended into the parking lot below. Neil cocked his head towards Andrew’s Suburban, but Andrew walked right past it and out into the street. Neil followed. They walked in silence for a few blocks before Andrew stopped in front of a bar Neil had passed many times on his runs. The Jackpot appeared rather unassuming - the outer walls were bare save one glowing neon sign blinking a pair of dice.

Neil glanced at Andrew, “You know I’m not 21 right?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Andrew responded as he opened the door and waved Neil inside. It was a small space, made up of two rooms, surprisingly packed for a Sunday night. Neil could see pool tables through the arch to his right. The worn wooden bar glowed amber under low hanging lights, curving into a peninsula and taking up most of the space in the main room. Circular booths hugged the walls here and there, the leather backs high.

It was a nice place - cozy, unpretentious, and not at all where Neil had imagined Andrew spending his time. No one checked their IDs, which Neil found odd, and he followed Andrew to the back corner of the bar, farthest out of the light, and slid in next to him in one of the booths.

The bartender was already heading their way, two small glasses in his hand, each half full of amber liquid. He sat them on the table with an easy smile for Andrew, glancing curiously at Neil. “It’s a new Islay single malt I’m trying out,” he nodded at the glasses. “Let me know what you think.” He stole another quick look at Neil, smiled at Andrew again, and then headed back to the bar.

“I don’t drink,” Neil said in an aside, watching the bartender walk away, and then turning back to Andrew. He knew he was missing something about the interaction, but didn’t ask.

Andrew took a sip of the Scotch and shrugged, picking up Neil’s glass and dumping the contents into his own. ”Problem solved,” he said, pushing the empty glass to the far end of the table. Andrew slid out of the booth and headed for the bar, and then came back with something iced and clear and bubbly, which he sat down in front of Neil before sliding back into the booth. “Club soda,” he stated.

Neil eyed him. Andrew was terse, short with his words, and though they never said a whole lot to each other in the parking lot in the middle of the night those many times, it had been more comfortable than this, they’d been relaxed with each other. This was different. Neil briefly wondered if Ronan was right about Andrew and that this had been a bad idea.

Neil really wasn’t often at a loss for words, but this hadn’t been his idea to begin with and he was out of his element. He slid his hands down under the table and tugged at the edges of his sleeves. Andrew still wasn’t saying anything, just sipping at his now doubled whiskey and staring at the wall. They sat there for a while in silence. Neil didn’t know what he’d expected tonight, but this wasn’t it. He tapped the side of his knee, feeling antsy, thought about standing up, thought about leaving. He started to slide out of the booth.

“Wait,” Andrew said. He slid out and stood in front of Neil, holding his hands up before he could get all the way out of the booth. “I’m fucking this up.”

“What is ‘this’ anyway?” Neil asked.

“Awkward is what this is,” Andrew replied. “I don’t know how...” He glanced at the bartender who was staring at them, and then back at Neil. “Can we try again? We don’t have to stay here.”

Neil nodded, feeling a little stupid for his panic, “It’s fine. Yes, and we can stay here. I’m fine.” Andrew let out a little breath and motioned back at the table. They sat, but Neil didn’t totally relax. He lay his hands flat on the table, realized his scars were highlighted in the bar’s moody lighting, and then slid them back under the table.

Andrew watched Neil’s hands disappear, and made a decision before he could back out. “You go first,” he said to Neil, “ask me something.”

Neil thought about it for a minute. He really wanted to ask about the bartender, but he wasn’t sure why and he didn’t exactly know what he would be asking, so instead he started with, “Why do you sit on the roof of your car every night?”

Andrew looked away, then down at his glass, which was half empty already. “The stars,” he finally said. “I like to see the stars at night, it helps me sleep. You can’t see that many of them with the light pollution, but you can see a few.” Andrew glanced at Neil, and he knew he was going to have to give more to get him to calm down, to get back to the Andrew and Neil in the parking lot at 3am with no questions or lies or awkwardness.

Andrew considered what else he’d be able to say out loud, and then ploughed on: “I was in foster care for most of my life. A lot of homes and....none of them were good,” he looked down at his arms briefly, then back and Neil. “I would sneak out on the roof or out into the street and look up at the stars and fuck...hope for something else I guess? When I was sixteen someone found me on the roof of my foster home. I’d been hiding from him. He...fell. Off the roof. After that I ended up at a youth home. I didn’t see the stars for two years.”

Andrew shrugged again, but Neil knew what had just happened was a big deal. He wasn’t sure why, but he already trusted this man. Andrew had never pushed him, never asked about his scars or tried to hug him or jostle him like his teammates did. In fact, Neil was pretty sure Andrew was hiding some scars of his own. “Your turn then,” Neil said.

Andrew shook his head no, and took a sip of his whiskey, “You’re not ready. Ask me something else.”

Neil widened his eyes in surprise, taken off guard. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this honesty from Andrew. Neil was uncomfortably aware that the bartender was still eyeing them surreptitiously. Before he could stop himself he blurted out, “How do you know the bartender?”

“Roland?” Andrew flicked his gaze back over at the bartender. “I met Roland a few years back. He helped me figure out some stuff. This is actually his bar, I’ve been drinking here since well before I was legal. He’s a friend.”

“Your boyfriend?” Neil asked.

Andrew snorted at Neil, but Neil’s face was earnest and Andrew seemed to realize it was a real question. “No, fuck. That would be...fuck, Neil. You do realize that this is...this was supposed to be a date.” Andrew gestured between the two of them. Neil stared back at him, his face a mask of shock.

“A date,” he repeated, dumbly.

Andrew stared at him non-plussed, “Fuck Neil, what did you think we were doing?”

Neil thought about it, the shocked look falling off of his face, replaced with consternation. “I don’t know! I’m stupid I guess. I just like, you know, thought we were hanging. I just like you, I like being around you, and I don’t normally like people. I thought we were hanging out…” Neil repeated, trailing off.

“Well. I like you too,” Andrew said. “For fuck’s sake.”

Neil recaptured his gaze. Andrew looked disconcerted, and Neil realized he’d seen more expressions on Andrew’s face in the last hour than he had in the last six months. Fuck, this was his fault, he cursed himself internally. Neil considered what he could do to fix it, trying to figure out what words would be okay before they came out of his mouth. And then he just jumped in.

“Okay, so yeah, I’m kind of stupid about that shit. I don’t...I’ve never been on a date before. I don’t do super well with...people...but I’m working on it.” Neil thought about what Andrew had shared with him about his life, took a breath, clenching his hands into fists, and continued on, “Have you heard of the Butcher of Baltimore?” Andrew nodded carefully. Deep breath Neil, so many deep breaths. “That was my father. Childhood with him was...brutal. My mom stole some money from him and ran with me when I was ten, and that was our life, on the run, until his people caught up with us when I was fifteen. They killed my mom and took me back to Baltimore and-” Neil waved vaguely at his face, “that’s when this happened.” He looked down at his clenched fists. He forced his hands to relax. “And some other things. The feds came just in time, they’d been watching my father’s house,” Neil stared at the wall for a minute, forcing down a wave of panic. It’d been a long time since he’d said any of this out loud. “Anyway, I ended up in foster care after that, but I was luckier than you there at least - Wymack and Abby are good people. They adopted us. Me and Ronan.”

Andrew was staring at Neil, his face clear, accepting, not questioning. Neil reached over and grabbed Andrew’s glass, draining the last finger of Scotch in one go. He coughed once.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” Andrew said.

“Yeah well, I don’t date either and here we are,” Neil replied.

Andrew’s face froze in place for just a moment and then the tiniest of smiles played across his lips. He grabbed their glasses and then got up, heading to the bar to get them another round.

They left The Jackpot two hours later, Neil was warm from the whiskey and buzzed on gentler conversation. After their awkward false start Andrew and Neil had managed to relax into a rhythm. Neil had learned that Andrew was studying English Lit at the local community college with the hopes of transferring to State, that he loved the East Coast because it had four seasons and California hadn’t, that he really liked to cook - something he’d learned to do out of necessity when he and Adam had moved here. Neil had talked about his teammates and his Spanish classes and Ronan and Wymack and Abby, how they always spent Christmas at their mountain house in West Virginia and that it was Neil’s favorite place in the world.

They walked in comfortable silence now, heading back to the apartments. Neil looked up, and the sky was clear and crisp. As they reached the parking lot, Neil headed for Andrew’s parked Suburban and hopped up on the back bumper, grabbed the roof rack, and hoisted himself up on the roof. He grinned down at Andrew, “Not tired of me yet are you?”

Andrew responded by hiking one foot up onto the front tire and crawling up the windshield to join Neil. “This thing is gigantic,” Neil said, laying back on the roof and looking up at the stars. “It’s a bloody boat.” He turned to look at Andrew, who had propped himself up next to Neil, lighting two cigarettes. “You know what these stars are don’t you, the constellations?” Andrew handed one of the cigarettes to Neil, then settled onto his back, and started pointing out the stars.

Eventually they fell into silence again, looking up at the sky, laying side by side, not touching. Neil was happy, he realized. He felt safe, but also his insides buzzed a bit, like after a track meet when his legs burned and his lungs burned and he had run faster and farther than anyone else and he had won. That’s how this felt.

Neil wondered if, maybe, he could try something - he was surprised he even wanted to but, his mind had been reeling in the background ever since hours ago when they’d sorted out that Andrew liked him, that this was a date, that Neil was totally stupid. But. Maybe. He turned towards Andrew. His blond hair was thick and straight and fell back from his forehead, his face strong, stoic, regal. Neil looked down at Andrew’s hands which were crossed across his chest, fingers interlaced, pale against the black of his armbands and his shirt.

“I want to try something,” he said to Andrew.

Andrew turned his head towards him and they were nose to nose, inches apart. “Okay.”

Neil reached over with one hand, hesitating. Andrew didn’t move, waiting. Neil dropped his fingers onto the back of Andrew’s hand, paused, looked back up to Andrew’s face. “Is this okay?” Neil asked, as he hooked a finger behind Andrew’s thumb, giving a little tug.

“Yes,” Andrew responded, letting Neil pull his hand loose and towards him. Neil settled their hands between them, the backs of their knuckles touching, Neil’s middle and ring finger hooked around Andrew’s. Neil felt like he was playing with fire, but Andrew just lay there, staring at him. Neil stared back. They lay like that until the cold night air crept underneath every layer of their clothes, and finally they headed inside, their fingers gently interlocked until Andrew left Neil at his door with a whispered goodnight, heading back downstairs to his apartment.


	5. Waffles

Andrew was up before Adam the next morning. It was Monday, which meant back to back classes for both of them, and Adam would have to run study hall for the football team that night - job number two of the three.

Monday mornings usually meant pop tarts or frozen bagels, or - when one or both of them were running late - a granola bar and a banana on the go. Instead, Andrew was cracking eggs into batter and the waffle iron was sizzling when Adam ambled into the kitchen, still in the sweats and t-shirt he’d slept in. “Coffee?” he asked hopefully. Andrew flapped a hand at the machine, where the carafe was full and hot, and Adam poured himself a cup.

“Is it my birthday or something?” he eyed the waffle maker and Andrew’s hand on the whisk. There was a pan heating up on the stove, and a package of bacon waiting on the counter.

“Not your birthday, I couldn’t sleep.” Andrew grunted at him.

Adam considered him, taking a few more sips of coffee and waking up a bit more. “Couldn’t sleep doesn’t mean weekend breakfast on a Monday,” he said. “You’re bribing me. What do you want?” Adam spoke ‘Andrew’ quite well.

Andrew didn’t say anything for a minute, pouring batter into the waffle maker Adam had saved up to get him the first Christmas they had spent in Raleigh. He lay the bacon strips in the pan and then turned to Adam as they started to sizzle.

“So, you and Ronan.” he said.

Adam almost spat out his coffee, tried to gulp it instead, and ended up choking. “Andrew!” he gasped once he caught his breath, “we talked about this. If you are going to do your broody know everything surprise-the-shit out of me thing you do, you have to make sure I’m not eating or drinking anything at the time.” Adam grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the front of his shirt, glaring at his roommate, “and how do you even know that already? I hate you sometimes.”

“No you don’t,” Andrew responded, smirking a little. He sat the first waffle down in front of Adam and pushed a couple pieces of bacon on top, handing him the maple syrup he had already warmed in the microwave.

“No I don’t,” Adam agreed, taking a bite and closing his eyes in a moment of bliss. “Oh my god these are even better than your last batch, can we have weekend breakfast every day?”

“I added more sugar this time, sugar makes everything better,” Andrew noted as he poured more batter and added more bacon to the pan.

Adam took another bite of his waffle and swirled his bacon in the extra syrup, “We’re going to die of diabetes and I don’t even care.” Adam had grown up with never enough, including food, and particularly food that tasted good. Sharing the grocery bill with Andrew meant they always had groceries, and Andrew cooking meant the food just tasted better and better. Diabetes be damned.

“It was the paint,” Andrew gestured to his own face.

It took Adam a second, but then he caught up, and cocked his head at his roommate. “Why and when did you see Ronan after I got home last night?”

“I saw him when I went to pick up his brother for our date,” Andrew waggled his fingers at Adam’s face, “You two had matching faces.”

Adam gaped at him, “You did what now...oh. Fuck. Andrew! Since when are you dating…” Adam paused for a minute to pluck Ronan’s brother’s name from his memory, “...Neil?”

Andrew shrugged and turned back to the stove, putting his own plate together before sitting down across from Adam, snagging the syrup and dumping the rest of it on his waffle. “Not dating, a date. We’ve been talking for six months, here and there. When you’re asleep”

“Six months,” Adam repeated. “Okay. And? You didn’t make me waffles on a Monday to talk about paint.”

“No,” Andrew agreed. “I need ideas. I almost fucked things up last night, and I don’t want to do that again. Neil is...he doesn’t like to be touched. Like I was - am - but as bad as I used to be.”

Andrew was being vague, but Adam was sharp, and he knew Andrew - what he had been through, how hard he had fought through the shit to get where he was now. It wasn’t perfect, but Andrew had gotten to a steady, solid place, functioning above all but the worst of his demons. If this kid Neil hurt his friend, Adam would fucking bury him. Adam reined that impulse in and thought about what could actually be helpful here.

“He doesn’t like to be touched, but he went on a date with you?” Adam stalled for time while he considered tactics and solutions and ideas.

Andrew snorted, “Well. Once he realized we were on a date. Yeah, he wanted to be there with me.”

“Okay I’m leaving that little piece of hilarity alone for a minute. So how did you and Roland handle it when the two of you were together?” Adam hesitated a moment since he and Andrew hadn’t ever delved into the details of his past relationship with Roland, but it was important now, so, “I know you worked through some things with him, but you didn’t just start off okay with him touching you.”

Andrew considered that, “No. But with Roland he just gave me all of the control. All of it. So...that won’t work here.”

“Oh, hmmm. No that won’t work here,” Adam agreed. Andrew may have worked some shit out but there was no way he was ready to fully give up control to anyone, and maybe never would be - even to the pretty boy neighbor kid who he’d apparently been chatting up for six months, even to the pretty boy neighbor kid who he was into enough to elicit waffles and this conversation.

Andrew didn’t ask for help almost ever, and Adam wouldn’t let him flounder. He thought about control and trust and intimacy, and...oh. Adam’s heart stuttered a bit as he remembered Ronan pulling back from him last night, right when Adam thought he was about to actually kiss him, how Ronan’s eyes had asked for consent, even if he hadn’t asked out loud. Right. But it would need to be asked out loud for Andrew and Neil. A safeword. They needed a safeword. Not like, whips and chains and red room of pain, but like...more like a password. Yes. Yes or no. Clear consent.

“Yes or no,” Adam finally said. Andrew cocked an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “Like a safeword, but more like a password. Like, pass go, you may proceed sort of thing. Just ask yes or no, before anything - it’s ongoing and vocal consent. It can work for both of you. Then no one has to give up total control, and you are always on the same page. Yes, or no. No maybes.”

“No maybes,” Andrew mused, considering. “That’s not a very nuanced solution but…”

“But it will work,” Adam finished for him. “Not all answers are complicated Andrew.”

“Fuck off,” Andrew replied, but he smiled a bit.

Adam grinned back, and then glanced at the clock, “I’ve got to jump in the shower or I’m going be late.”

Andrew grabbed their plates, heading to the sink, “I’ll drive you,” he said, “and I haven’t forgotten about the ‘you and Ronan’ part of this conversation.”

Adam blushed, flicking him off. “Ready in fifteen, asshole.”

~

It was a 25 minute walk to State’s campus, a 10 minute bike ride, and just 5 minutes in Andrew’s SUV. Usually Adam just biked, since Andrew needed the Suburban to make it across town to the community college, but when Andrew was up in time he liked dropping Adam off at class.

Somewhere along the way Adam’s dream of a college degree and a different life and something more had become Andrew’s dream too, and he wanted to be on this campus too, walking the brick pathways, arguing about Pynchon and DeLillo and Nabokov, like real demons didn’t exist, like his demons had never existed.

Another pipe dream, but then...apparently those were Andrew’s specialty these days. He had officially submitted his application for transfer last month, and he’d know before Thanksgiving if it was approved.

“So, you and Ronan,” he repeated, now that he and Adam were on the road. Five minutes was plenty of time for this conversation.

“It was just one kiss Andrew,” Adam replied

“But you want it to be more.” Andrew stated. He knew Adam like Adam knew him: neither of them took on a relationship lightly, neither of them were much up for just one kiss.

“But I want it to be more,” Adam agreed. “If I had known you were into Neil…” he trailed off.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Andrew said.

“Right,” Adam sighed. “It’s a bit of a mess but shit...what else is new? We’ve always been a bit of a mess, but we do alright.”

Andrew laughed a little at that as he pulled up in front of Adam’s building, but there was no humor in it; he wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was nervous as hell. He still wasn’t used to letting himself want things. The Adam and Ronan complication had thrown him last night. He also wasn’t used to being thrown off balance so easily. He wasn’t used to any of this, and it was fucking terrifying.

Adam unbuckled his seatbelt, but sat still for a few seconds before turning towards him, “Six months, Andrew. That’s a long time for you to be talking to someone without telling me. I know we’re not the fucking Brady Bunch of communication but still….six months, man.”

Andrew shrugged, and struggled to put it into words, starting and stopping a couple of times before finally saying, “I was worried it was nothing. That, if I said anything about it, it would be nothing. That it would disappear.”

Adam gazed at him intently for a moment. “We’ll both be careful. We won’t fuck it up. It’s going to be okay,” he said softly.

Andrew looked back at Adam just as intently, hearing all the other words that Adam hadn’t said: that they had each other’s backs, that they wanted this for each other, that the two of them were hanging on and fighting tooth and nail for the things they wanted, the things they were willing to fight for. Together. They didn’t have to say these things, but it didn’t make them less true, it didn’t make them less important. Adam hopped out of the car and saluted him. Andrew nodded, and headed for his own campus, thinking about Neil and Adam and school and wanting everything


	6. Take-Out

Adam’s third job was his least favorite, but it was the one that was the most flexible around his class schedule - it was also the one that paid the most. His coworkers were nice enough, and he was good at the work, but working on cars would always remind him of Robert Parrish, and anything that reminded him of his father would always put Adam in a crap mood. 

Grayman Auto Imports let him set his own hours - he could come in whenever he had time, and work on whatever car or task was in the lineup. Since it was the week before Thanksgiving break, his last Friday class had let out early, and Adam grudgingly headed over to the garage to put in a few hours changing oil, aligning brakes, and tweaking transmissions. 

He finished up with the last Honda of the evening, wiped his hands on a rag and pulled his silenced phone out to see one missed text from Andrew and several from Ronan.  
[4:15 pm] Andrew: I got in. Start Spring semester. Going out with Neil. 

Adam broke into a real smile, tapping out a quick belated reply:  
[6:37 pm] Adam: Never doubted. Happy for you. Ice cream celebration tomorrow. 

He flipped to Ronan’s texts:  
[4:45 pm] Ronan: what’s your night look like? 

[5:17 pm] Ronan: I’m guessing you’re at work

[6:01 pm] Ronan: Neil’s out if you want to come over after

Adam and Ronan had been hanging out for over a month now, and Adam still got a delicious thrill every time he received a Ronan text. Before that, the only texts he really got were from Andrew or from one of his three jobs, and occasionally from Noah.  
[6:38 pm] Adam: Finishing up at the garage in 10. I need a shower and food, but yeah.  
[6:38 pm] Ronan: cool, ordering Thai  
[6:39 pm] Adam: Okay, be there in an hour. Figure out what i’ll owe you.  
[6:39 pm] Ronan: nope, my idea, my treat see you in an hour

Adam sighed. He and Ronan had already fought about this a couple of times, and he knew he was on the losing end of the battle. Ronan clearly had some money from somewhere, although Adam hadn’t asked about it. He didn’t work at all, just went to class and painted and fucked off, and although he wasn’t a spendthrift - their shared apartment building was not the nicest of housing options - it was also clear he didn’t worry about his bank balance like Adam did. He’d bought a goddamned building for fuck’s sake. Not a big building, but still, it made for an expensive canvas. 

It mostly had come down to food, and it mostly had come down to Ronan insisting on paying for Adam’s whenever they were together. It was habit for Adam to fight about money. He didn’t want to be beholden, he didn’t want to be owned, and most importantly he didn’t want pity. Andrew didn’t have his same issues, and had been unimpressed when Adam complained. “If a man wants to buy you dinner, let a man buy you dinner,” he’d intoned.

Adam grabbed his bike and pedaled home. It was windy out, and a cold drizzle had started. As the garage was on the opposite side of campus, it took Adam 15 minutes instead of 10 to get to the apartments, and in those 15 minutes he was soaked through and freezing. 

The hot shower felt amazing, and he took his time scrubbing the motor oil and grime from his fingers as the water beat down on his sore muscles. Yet another reason that working at the garage wasn’t his favorite: contorting himself under cars wreaked havoc on his back. 

By the time he was dry and dressed in faded jeans and a flannel, his tired body was questioning whether he had the ability to climb two flights of stairs, but Ronan and food were motivation enough to dredge up the reserves of his strength. 

Ronan opened the door with his trademark grin, leaning against the doorframe briefly before grabbing Adam’s wrist and pulling him up against his chest, wrapping his arms around his waist, pressing hungry lips against his, sliding his tongue into Adam’s mouth. Adam melted into Ronan, bringing his arms up his solid back, digging his fingers into his shoulders. 

Adam didn’t think he could ever get used to this, or get enough of it. He’d been touch starved for so long, longing for what he’d never been able to have, and then came Ronan, an exuberant whirlwind full of kisses and arms to wrap around him, fingers tangled together, hands on skin, on Adam’s skin, like Adam was his answer, his tonic, his savior - instead of the other way around. 

Adam hummed against Ronan’s lips and Ronan’s arms tightened and he growled softly. Adam walked them forward without breaking off the kiss until they were inside the apartment, and then kicked the door closed behind him. Ronan pressed him back up against the door, his hands starting to explore under Adam’s shirt as he kissed down his neck. Adam groaned, summoned his willpower, and then pushed a little, “I have to eat, or I am going to pass out on you before this goes anywhere,” he said into Ronan’s neck. 

Ronan didn’t stop his trail of kisses. ‘“And where do you want this to go?” he murmured against Adam’s neck.

“Towards the kitchen so I can eat, I can smell the Pad Thai from here,” Adam pushed against him gently again, and he smiled when Ronan caught his gaze. “Food first, making out for dessert.” Ronan laughed at him and dragged him into the kitchen. 

They sat on the couch, using wooden chopsticks to eat directly out of the cardboard containers. Ronan had put one of the Lord of the Rings movies on with the sound low, and some battle was raging across the screen, the two of them only paying cursory attention to the film they’d both seen numerous times. 

Adam marveled again over how quickly they had fallen into each other, and he kept stealing glances at Ronan over his take-out, realizing the raw edge he felt inside was the fear that this was all a dream he would wake up from to find himself without Ronan’s hands on him, without his grins and his arms and his texts and the easiness that Adam’s heart settled into when they were alone together. 

Adam pushed the worry away and went to take another bite of his food but a yawn crept out of nowhere, and Ronan snorted at him. “I don’t think I’m getting dessert am I?” Adam protested, but Ronan took his almost empty carton away and hauled him off the couch. 

“I should probably go to bed. I’m sorry.” Adam yawned again. Ronan didn’t respond but kept dragging him forward, and Adam realized suddenly that he was pulling him into his bedroom. “Ronan, I -” 

“Shush, don’t be stupid, I’m not expecting anything out of you tonight. Just come lay down, and I’ll rub your back for you before you go.” At that Adam gave up his protest. Ronan had done this for him a few times before, when he’d had particularly long days at the garage. Today had really only been a half-day, but he wasn’t going to bring that up

Ronan pulled Adam’s shirt off, which under other circumstances would have started a whole bunch of something else, but Adam really was exhausted and sore, so instead he planted face-first on the bed. He felt Ronan’s hands slide up his back, felt his skin warm under that touch, felt the heavenly pressure along his muscles, and he sank into a contented sigh. Within minutes he was lulled asleep by touch, by the safety and the warmth of Ronan. 

~

Adam woke up, suddenly and fully alert. It took him a second to realize he was in Ronan’s bedroom, in Ronan’s bed. The light from a streetlight outside was shining through the window casting a gentle light across his face, and he had the passing thought that he’d never realized the streetlight did that because he had never slept over. Before he could digest that thought, he realized what had woken him up. Ronan was stretched out beside him, flat on his back, still in the clothes he’d been wearing earlier, and he was moaning piteously, his hands twitching subtly, his brow tight and drawn over his closed eyes. 

“Ronan,” Adam said softly, not sure if he should touch him. He’d lived with Andrew for five years now, and he had learned from experience that touching someone having a nightmare could end very, very wrong. Ronan was most definitely having a nightmare. 

“Ronan,” Adam said a little louder. Nothing changed, and if anything the sounds Ronan was making became even more unbearable. Adam couldn’t take it for much longer, so, turning his face away to avoid any flying fists, he reached out to grab Ronan’s elbow and shook him firmly. The sounds stopped instantly, and Adam involuntarily flinched, waiting for the fist to strike him. But nothing happened. Nothing at all. Adam turned back to look. Ronan was laying still as death, his breathing shallow, but his eyes were open and staring straight up at the ceiling.

This might be worse than the noises he had been making a moment ago. The room was silent except for those shallow, irregular breaths. “Ronan?” Adam said one more time, quietly. Ronan finally took a deep shuddering breath, and then another, and then his breathing relaxed a bit, and he turned to look at Adam. 

“Fuck,” he said. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep with you here.” Ronan tried for his usual grin, and Adam watched him fail miserably. Ronan was still shaking a little as he pushed his hands into the bed and he sat up, scooting back against the headboard. 

Adam looked up at him for a minute, considering. “I didn’t mean to sleep here, I’m sorry.” Adam said, not sure what Ronan needed right now and trying to pay attention. 

“Fuck,” Ronan said again, “that’s not what I meant, it’s fine, it’s just...I would have told you about this...before. You know, before we slept together.” Ronan winced, “Slept over,” he corrected.

Adam scooted himself up next to Ronan, careful not to touch him in case he didn’t want that yet. He tried for levity, “And here I was worried it was me,” he smiled a bit wanly when that fell flat, “So I guess this is why we haven’t slept together - or slept over - yet?”

Ronan hesitated and then just nodded a little miserably.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” Adam asked carefully.

“No,” Ronan sighed, ”I don’t want to talk about it at all, but I do want to tell you about it, so...now’s as good a time as any.” He leaned against Adam, and Adam’s heart eased a little at the touch. 

It was several minutes before Ronan started talking, but when he did, he told him about Kavinsky. How the year Joseph Kavinsky had died had already been a shit year - his mother and father had been attacked outside of a movie theater, his father beaten to death with a tire iron and his mother falling into a coma as a result of her own injuries. How Ronan had spiraled, and had ended up drugging and drinking and drag racing with Kavinsky. 

Ronan admitted he may have loved Kavinsky a bit, or at least he thought it could have been love. Kavinsky had desperately wanted it to be love. They had been kids at 16, and there had been kissing and angst, and well...when Ronan’s mom finally died too, after never waking up from the coma, Ronan had snapped out of whatever spiral he’d been in and tried to walk away from everything having to do with Kavinsky. He told Adam how, in retaliation, the boy had set himself on fire right in front of Ronan’s face, and died. 

“I know now that Kavinsky was fucked. He had his own shit going on, and it didn’t entirely have to do with me walking away. But every fucking night I have this dream. Sometimes it’s worse than others, but it’s always there.” Ronan’s shoulders slumped a little more. 

Adam had questions, but he didn’t ask them. He took Ronan’s hand in his, passing his thumb gently over his knuckles. “What do you need right now?” He asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Ronan muttered. He didn’t say anything for a moment, and then quietly, “would you stay?”

Adam leaned in to press his forehead to Ronan’s. “Of course.” He kissed him softly, and then they slid down in the bed, Ronan resting his head on Adam’s shoulder. Adam reached down to pull the comforter up over them. He wanted to savor this, the first time he was - consciously - sleeping over in Ronan’s bed, particularly as he realized he still didn’t have a shirt on and Ronan’s face was pressed against his naked skin. Ahhh that was distracting. 

Instead what Adam was seeing over and over behind his closed eyelids was Ronan paralyzed on the bed, shaking. What Adam was hearing was Ronan’s breath shallow, making desperate, helpless noises. What Adam was thinking about was a 16 year old Ronan who lost both parents and his friend - boyfriend? - in the space of a year. 

Adam ran his fingers back and forth behind Ronan’s ear, back and forth softly, and Adam kept running through ideas in his head long past when Ronan’s breath had finally evened out in sleep.


	7. Push

Andrew was going to have to break things off with Neil. 

They still hadn’t kissed. It had been over a month since their first awkward date at the Jackpot, and although Andrew’s hands had mapped out every inch of Neil’s hands - that’s as far as they had gotten. Neil had been amenable to Andrew’s use of yes or no for consent, but Neil wasn’t using it, wasn’t pushing, and for fuck’s sake Andrew wanted him to push. 

Neil had confessed the other night that he had never kissed anyone, that he’d never really wanted to kiss anyone, that he’d never been into anyone - guy or girl. Andrew didn’t entirely know what to make of that. Even with everything that had happened to him, even though at one time he thought he would never be able to have sex with anyone - he still knew that he was into guys. It had been look but don’t touch for such a long time, and then Roland had shown him how touch and lips and cock could be a good thing. 

Andrew had headed to work at the club that particular night completely out of sorts, questioning everything he was trying to do with Neil. He’d worked the main bar with Renee, and as they were closing out at the end of the night he’d asked her about it. In her kind, calm way she’d suggested Neil was maybe asexual - a suggestion that didn’t put Andrew back to sorts at all. 

He wanted more with Neil, but he wasn’t sure Neil wanted more with him. Andrew refused to push him, and instead of getting more demanding, he’d gotten less. Looking over at him now as they sped along some winding country road in the dark, he marveled again at where this kid had come from, out of nowhere, snagging his attention and keeping it, this kid who might have been through as much shit as he had, this kid he couldn’t keep his eyes or thoughts away from. 

It was fucking ridiculous, and it was beginning to look like it really was too good to be true. He was going to have to break this off because if he didn’t, he was going to push Neil somewhere he didn’t want to go...and Andrew would never forgive himself for that. 

It has been Neil who first suggested that they drive out of the city so that they could see the stars without light pollution. Now it had become a given that when they met in the apartment parking lot, instead of climbing up to the roof of the Suburban, they’d climb into the front seats and drive forty-five minutes or more until they passed cows and horses and fields of soybeans, the lights of downtown far behind them. Andrew always drove, sneaking peeks over at Neil who somehow seemed the most at home in a car, his head tilted against the window, watching the fields fly by in the dark. 

Andrew drove farther than usual that night - it was a rare Friday night that he didn’t have to go in to work, and Neil didn’t have practice or class the next day. He finally pulled into an old church parking lot - one of those little white churches that were ubiquitous in the North Carolina countryside. This one had a spreading cemetery to the other side of the gravel parking lot and was surrounded by fields, ensuring a clear line to the sky with no tree limbs overhead. 

They climbed onto the roof at the same time, using the open windows to boost themselves up and coming together, both on their feet, face to face, taller than the world. Neil reached for Andrew’s hand - he was always reaching for his hand - and Andrew let him twine his fingers through his. They’d stopped asking yes or no about hands. 

Andrew was suddenly overwhelmed with a need to yank Neil towards him, to press his lips onto his, to tug at those wild curls, to kiss a path along his scars to his ears, to run his hands up under Neil’s shirt and feel what he was hiding from him - to destroy the barriers between them. 

_Fuck._ He would not be like them. He would not. Andrew tore his hand away from Neil’s and took a step back. “Neil…” he started to say. 

“Oh,” Neil said, interrupting him, his face lighting up, “I forgot. Stay there.”

“Where the fuck would I go?” he said, but Neil missed it as he catapulted his torso back through the open passenger-side window, and for a moment all Andrew could see was his legs hooked against the edge of the roof rack until he twisted around and hauled himself back up, dragging his backpack up out of the car with him. 

“You’re going to fall on your idiot head one of these days,” Andrew muttered, his heart pounding a bit from what he’d almost said. He didn’t want this to be over. Maybe he could handle it, maybe he could be in an asexual relationship. Maybe he wouldn’t be like them. Maybe he wasn’t a monster. 

Neil had settled onto his knees and was busy pulling things out of his bag. A quilt, which he spread out on the roof. Then a bottle, wrapped up in what looked like a sweatshirt. He also managed to produce two small glasses and a brown paper bag that had been rolled closed. 

Neil looked up, Andrew was still standing, staring down at him. “Sit down,” he commanded. Andrew sat. “So, we’re celebrating, right?” he handed Andrew the sweatshirt-bottle combo, “Rescue that bottle from its cocoon first.” 

Andrew carefully pulled the fabric from around the bottle - Scotch, a good one. Single malt, aged more than 20 years. “How did you even get this?” he asked. It was expensive, sure, but he’d figured out that - like Ronan - Neil had access to money. 

It was more that Neil at 18 couldn’t have bought it himself, and Andrew had just texted him a few hours ago to let him know he got the good news from State. This would have taken some time to make happen. 

“I’m magic,” Neil replied grinning. “It’s a good one right?” Andrew nodded at him. 

“Yeah I know it is,” Neil said, his grin deepening. He propped the glasses up next to his legs and pulled the little corked top out of the bottle, pouring a couple inches into each glass. Neil sucked the left side of his bottom lip between his teeth as he did it, and it was everything Andrew could do not to throw himself off the roof of the car. He would never survive this. They clinked glasses and each took a sip.

“Now that,” Neil said, settling his glass back against his leg and inclining his head towards the sweatshirt that had been around the scotch. Andrew set his glass down and picked up the bundle, shaking it out. It was a hoodie, black, with “NC STATE” emblazoned across the chest in red and white, with the school’s mascot, a grey wolf, howling below. Andrew stared at it. It looked cozy, and warm, and... _double fuck_. Neil had gotten this for him, either ahead of time or somehow this afternoon after he’d texted him and before they’d met in the parking lot. Andrew didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He dropped the hoodie in his lap, wrapping his hands in the fabric. 

“Okay last thing.” Neil handed him the brown paper bag. Andrew kept his eyes anywhere but on Neil’s as he opened the bag and pulled out a little stuffed wolf. It was soft, and squishy, and stupid cute, and... _triple fuck_. Andrew was frozen. Somehow everything hurt, like he was cracking, like his insides were falling apart. There was absolutely no way he could do this. 

“Because you’re a wolf now. Like me - and Adam and Ronan.” Neil cocked his head a little to the side, and Andrew saw it out of the corner of his eye because he still couldn’t look at him. He stared down at the little wolf in his lap.

“Hey,” Neil said, waving his hand a little in front of Andrew’s face. “Andrew. Can you look at me?” 

_No I can’t_ , Andrew thought, but somehow he looked up at him anyway. Whatever Neil saw in his face wiped the last dregs of his grin away. 

“What’s wrong?” Neil asked, his voice serious. 

Andrew huffed out a breath. Why did Neil have to look at him like that? Why did Neil have to _look_ like that - his face, that intensity. He looked right through him and saw him and accepted him, and just this, this - whatever this was - wasn’t ever going to be enough for him. Andrew was a monster. 

“I can’t do this,” Andrew said, choking a little on the words. 

Neil gazed at him. “Can’t do what?” 

“This.” Andrew’s voice was steady now that he’d started. He was doing the right thing. He was sure. He thought he was sure. It didn’t matter if those bits of his insides had moved on past cracks into full shatter mode. “This thing between us. I know this is all you want, but I can’t. I need more from you, and I’m not going to…” Andrew hesitated, not entirely sure how to put this thought into words. “I’m not going to be like them,” he muttered, not sure if Neil would understand. 

Everything went silent around him when he said those words out loud. Andrew’s ears felt suddenly muffled, as if enveloped in cotton. He shook his head a little, and steeled himself to look up again.

Andrew’s heart stuttered in his chest as he saw the look on Neil’s face. He realized that he had been completely, totally understood. Neil wasn’t pulling away or looking hurt or closing off from him. Instead Neil set his glass to the side and scooted closer until their knees were almost touching.

“And you call me an idiot,” Neil said softly. He carefully reached for both of Andrew’s hands. “Yes or no?”

Andrew stilled, and then nodded, “Yes,” he said simply. Neil wrapped his fingers around Andrew’s wrists, pulled his hands up, and pressed them to either side of his face.

“Then kiss me.” 

Every breath Andrew had ever taken escaped his lungs. He drowned in Neil’s fierce blue eyes for a moment, for two moments, he was totally submerged. And then he was crashing back to the surface, back to Neil.

He slid his hands across Neil’s cheeks, along his jaw, tucked fingers behind his ears, tangled them into his hair. Neil’s eyes flickered closed, those decadent eyelashes splayed across cheeks lit only by starlight, his lips parted slightly, relaxed and trusting and beautiful. Andrew leaned into him and kissed him.

~

Every thought Neil had ever had escaped his head. Andrew was kissing him and everything he knew started and stopped with his lips pressed against Andrew’s lips, with Andrew’s whiskey flavored tongue darting cleverly into his mouth, with his bottom lip between Andrew’s teeth, with Andrew’s hands in his hair gently tugging him back until he was laid out flat and Andrew’s hands had come to the roof on either side of his head and he had pulled back, hovering above him and they were both breathing the same air in and out and in and out because Andrew had pulled back and... _wait, why had Andrew pulled back?_

Neil had kept his hands at his side, but now he lifted them up to Andrew’s head, “Yes or no?” he breathed. 

“Yes,” Andrew gave a small nod, but Neil realized his eyes were closed. 

“You don’t know what I’m asking if your eyes are closed.”

Andrew opened his eyes, and there was just enough light to glint off the golden amber of his irises. Neil could tell that Andrew was still fighting with something, and it sobered him just a bit, pulled him out of the lull of the kiss a bit, threw him off guard a bit. “What is it?” he asked

Andrew’s nose was inches from his and Neil just wanted his mouth back, his hands on his face. “Are you doing this because you want to or because I want it?” Andrew asked quietly. 

Neil sighed. They really were both idiots. “I want this. I want you. I want to put my hands in your hair, yes or no?”

Andrew regarded him, his breath ragged. He looked down at Neil’s lips, and Neil saw him look down at his lips. Something quickened in Neil’s belly. “Yes or no Andrew? Because after I get my hands in your hair I want to pull your stupid mouth back down to mine and -”

  
Neil didn’t get to finish because Andrew’s mouth had crashed back into his and he was kissing him again, and he had grabbed one of Neil’s hands and dragged it up, and Neil carded his fingers through Andrew’s hair and Andrew’s tongue was a firebrand in his mouth, and Neil couldn’t breathe and he didn’t care, and then Andrew was kissing his way across Neil’s cheek and next to his ear and down his neck and Neil felt that quickening grow and… _oh_ realized he was getting hard and his dick was pressing against the sudden tightness in his jeans and he gasped into Andrew’s mouth. 

At that Andrew paused with his lips against Neil’s neck and hummed softly, and Neil tightened his fingers in Andrew’s hair. “Okay,” Neil said against the top of Andrew’s head. “Okay,” he repeated. ‘Okay okay okay.” 

Andrew pulled back a little again, looking down at Neil, his blond hair falling forward on the side Neil wasn’t holding onto it for dear life. 

“Okay,” Neil said one more time, the word getting a little caught in his throat. Neil swallowed and tried again, “Okay, I think we’ve established that you’re an idiot and I’m an idiot, and Andrew...I really, really like this, but I’m a little...I need a minute.”

Andrew lowered down to lay on his side next to him, keeping one hand tangled in his hair and turning Neil’s face to look at him. They lay that way for a while, watching each other chase down their breath. 

Eventually Neil leaned his face into Andrew’s hand, and sighed a little. 

“I don’t want to push you,” Andrew said. “I thought maybe...that you weren’t into this. Kissing or...other things.”

Neil blinked at him. “It’s not that...actually you are the only one I want to do this with. That I’ve ever,” Neil paused, thinking about how turned on he’d just been and felt his face heating up a bit. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, but he trusted Andrew and so he tried another tactic - more honesty. 

“You had me so hot just from kissing me that I was completely overwhelmed and-” he rushed on before Andrew could interrupt him, “that’s not a bad thing, I’ve just never been here before and it’s a little terrifying but-,” Neil put his hand up to keep Andrew quiet, “I like it. I like you. I want you to kiss me, and...other things, but I just don’t know how to do that so…” Andrew had stopped trying to interrupt him, but Neil wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. He struggled for some words that would make sense. “I need you to take the lead. You can’t leave it up to me.” 

“Clearly I can,” Andrew said dryly. 

Neil thumped him on the shoulder. “Shut up asshole. I mean, I don’t know where to lead us to. I didn’t realize you were waiting on me until tonight.” 

Andrew seemed to consider that, but didn’t say anything more about it, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting two and handing one to him. They both sat up again, cross-legged and facing each other. Neil held his cigarette up by his face but didn’t take a drag, letting the smoke curl around him, and Andrew leaned over to find their whiskey glasses and the bottle. 

Neil marinated on what had just happened, going back over the words and the kisses, and...he startled a little, and then he glared at Andrew “Did you just try to break up with me?” 

Andrew glared back at him, “Did you just throw yourself at me so I wouldn’t break up with you?”

Neil laughed a little. “Maybe. Did it work?”

“Yes.” Andrew admitted. “But I didn’t want to break up with you. Like I said, I just didn’t think you wanted to do this,” he waved his other hand back and forth between them, “with me.”

“And thus confirming again that we are both idiots,” Neil said gently.

They were comfortably quiet for a while, looking up at the stars and sometimes at each other. Eventually Neil murmured, “Hey Andrew. I’m not feeling overwhelmed anymore.”

Andrew eyed him, stubbing out his cigarette before he downed the rest of his Scotch. He leaned forward towards Neil hooking his fingers into his collar to pull him closer, gained his whispered “Yes,” and then kissed him breathless. 


	8. Saturday

Saturday morning found Adam piled up on the couch with more than a handful of books spread open around him and his ancient laptop on the coffee table whirring away. He had vaguely thought about heading straight for the garage to get some hours in, but he’d barely slept worrying over the problem of Ronan’s dreams, and generally, once Adam had a problem to worry over, his mind wouldn’t be his own until he had teased out some sort of plan. Thanksgiving was next week, which meant no classes, no homework, and plenty of time to catch up on as many hours as he wanted at the garage. So instead of work, Adam had hit the school’s library for books on dreamers. 

It was almost noon when Andrew wandered out of his bedroom, glancing over at Adam and his nest of books before shuffling into the kitchen. “You need breakfast?” he mumbled over his shoulder. 

“No I had a bagel, but if you fill up my coffee I’ll love you forever,” he said without looking up.

Andrew didn’t even dignify that with a _fuck you_ , but after a minute he shuffled out of the kitchen back towards Adam with the coffee carafe in hand. Adam held out his mug, taking in Andrew’s overly-mussed hair, and the new hoodie he was wearing. “Good night out with Neil?” he asked, a smile creeping onto his face. 

Andrew glared at him, but didn’t say anything as he shuffled back into the kitchen, and emerged again with his own oversized coffee mug and cinnamon bagel. He sat down in the armchair near Adam’s spot on the couch. 

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Andrew staring off into space and sipping the coffee he’d drowned in sugar and cream, and Adam typing away at notes on sleep paralysis, reality testing, and mnemonic induction. 

“Yes,” Andrew finally said. 

Adam looked up and blinked at him a minute. “You had a good night with Neil,” he stated, catching the thread back. 

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, dunking the end of his bagel into his coffee and letting it soak, before popping the whole thing into his mouth and chewing with his mouth open because, really, that was the only option with that much soggy bagel. 

Adam wrinkled his nose, but didn’t say anything. Andrew had started ‘reporting’ back to Adam after his dates with Neil. It had been a bit disconcerting the first couple of times he did it, but after the third time, Adam had remembered how thrown off he’d been when he found out that Andrew had been talking to Neil for six months without telling Adam about it, and figured that Andrew had noticed he’d been a bit hurt - even if he had tried to hide it. Andrew noticed everything.

Knowing what he knew about how his best friend operated, the Neil Reports were Andrew’s way of making up for that. Adam knew this was difficult for him, and he also knew it was probably damn good for him, so Adam kept his protests to himself and let Andrew tell him what he wanted when he wanted - well aware that five years ago, or even two years ago, this wouldn’t be happening at all. 

“I kissed him. He kissed me back.” Andrew was staring across the room, his mug tucked under his chin. “And it was…” he trailed off a bit, a smile touching the corner of his lips. “I don’t think he’s asexual - or ace or whatever.” he finally said.

Adam waited, but after a few minutes it was clear Andrew wasn’t going to elaborate. He hesitated. After Andrew had gone into a funk about Renee’s observation that Neil might be ace, Adam had done some research of his own - because, of course he had. Leaning forward he closed his notes on lucid dreaming, and pulled up a tab that had sat minimized at the bottom of his screen for a week now. He maximized it, handed the laptop over to Andrew, and then hopped up to grab Andrew’s glasses from his bedside table before he could make excuses about not being able to see. He dropped them haphazardly on Andrew’s nose and then leaned over to tap on the word “Demisexual” in the middle of the screen. 

Andrew grunted at him, but he pushed his frames into place and started reading. 

Adam headed to the kitchen to give him a minute alone. He ground some beans, and waited until the new pot was brewed. When he returned with a full carafe and the cream and sugar balanced in his other hand, Andrew had put the laptop back in the middle of the table and pilfered one of the books from the couch. 

“Dreaming Yourself Awake,” he read the title as Adam filled his mug up halfway with coffee for him, dumping several spoons of sugar and then topping it off with cream. The result wasn’t even coffee colored. He refilled his own cup, added the smallest dash of cream, and plopped back on the couch. 

“School project?” Andrew asked, flipping a page. 

Adam considered what was okay to say, as this wasn’t really about him. “Ronan project,” he said, “but not mine to tell.” 

“Fine,” Andrew said agreeably, tossing the book at Adam, and launching himself towards his bedroom. “Ice cream time then,” he leered over his shoulder, “I’m gonna be a grown up college boy, aren’t you proud?”

Adam stuffed down his own answering grin; he knew Andrew wouldn’t say it, but his friend’s sudden cheer spoke volumes, and he was happy that his wiki article had been helpful. 

“Fine,” he yelled after him, “but brush your hair you look like a hooligan!” 

~

Neil had already run seven miles, stretched out, finished all of his laundry, folded all of his laundry, cleaned the kitchen, and vacuumed the entire apartment except for Ronan’s room - and it was only half past noon. He would have done Ronan’s laundry, and vacuumed his room, too, but the one time he'd done that, his brother had sputtered at him for a full minute and then hadn’t spoken to him for two days...so, that wasn’t a good option. 

Neil was vibrating, like he was going to bounce right out of his skin and there was no practice and no class and no Ronan to distract him. He sat on the couch, his left knee jumping up and down uselessly, playing last night over and over and over again in his head. Andrew’s lips on his, his wicked tongue, the way his body had hovered over him, stealing his breath. Neil couldn’t get it out of his head, he couldn’t get Andrew out of his head, and he didn’t know what he wanted but all he knew was that he wanted a whole lot more of it. He leaned back, closed his eyes, sighed dramatically, and then huffed a laugh at his own drama. 

Food, that’s an idea. Ronan had said he was going to be out at the carriage house downtown until dinner - a subtle reminder for Neil to feed himself in the meantime. They were out of bread and sandwich stuff, but there was some leftover takeout rice, some cheese, a few cans of soup. As he dumped the rice and a can of tomato soup into a pot, Neil had the passing thought that he really should learn how to cook something that didn’t come in a can or a box. 

When the soup-rice concoction was bubbling he dumped it into a bowl, and then scattered the shredded cheddar on top of it. There, he’d invented cheesy-rice tomato soup. He was an effing chef. 

He took his creation to the living room and turned on the TV, but he only managed to flip through the channels. He forced himself to eat slowly after he burned the roof of his mouth on the first bite, and finally settled on a professional soccer game, some teams he was vaguely familiar with. 

He finished his food, and almost succeeded in watching the rest of the game, but watching the players run back and forth across the field just made him want to go running again. He hopped up, cleaned his lunch dishes, looked at the clock. Just after 2pm. That was a reasonable time to text Andrew. It had been 12 hours since he’d seen him. Totally reasonable. 

Neil dug out his phone, which was at three percent. He’d gotten better at keeping it on him since he’d been hanging with Andrew, but he was still shit at remembering to charge the thing. He relocated to his room so he could flop back on the bed and reach the cord for his phone charger. 

Staring at the screen he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, wasn’t really into small talk, didn’t think Andrew was either, so:

**[2:17pm] Neil:** I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.

**[2:18pm] Andrew:** junkie

Neil smiled at that and then turned his silly grin to the ceiling. He knew Andrew had to work tonight but:

**[2:20pm] Neil:** So sue me. Text me when you’re off?

**[2:20pm] Andrew:** yes

**[2:25pm] Andrew:** neil?

**[2:27pm] Neil:** Andrew?

The three little dots kept popping up, disappearing, popping up, disappearing. Neil almost gave it up after they disappeared for a solid five minutes, his knee bouncing again, and then:

**[2:41pm] Andrew:** i can’t stop thinking about kissing you either

Neil’s smile took over his face, and he knew he’d never make it through the next twelve hours without another run. He left his phone charging, laced his sneakers back up, grabbed a hoodie, and headed out. Just five more miles, then he’d stretch, he’d shower, eat dinner, nap...and then Andrew. 

~

Adam’s anxiety about skipping work for an entire Saturday eventually got the best of him. He and Andrew had celebrated with ice cream, and after spending some time working on his Ronan research, he felt like he might as well get a couple hours in at the garage. 

Tomorrow was grocery day, so Andrew was busying himself with throwing the last dregs of everything in their fridge into a pot for soup. Saturday Soup was never the same but somehow it was always delicious. Turns out Andrew actually had a damned impressive palate for a guy who tried to murder his taste buds on a daily basis with a sugar overdose. 

Still feeling full of ice cream, Adam closed his books, and shot a quick text to Ronan to see if he wanted to hang later, and snorted at the “stupid question, answer’s yes” that he sent back. He let Andrew know that he’d eat when he got home, and headed out. 

There was something about knowing his hands would be on Ronan - and Ronan’s on him - that made working at the garage less awful and somehow clocking a few hours didn’t feel like a few hours, and somehow those hours suddenly added up to 7pm and Adam’s stomach was growling in protest, the ice cream long gone.

Adam wrapped up and biked home in record time, jumping in the shower to wash off the grime. The ends of his hair were still dripping at the back of his neck when he peeked in the fridge to see the pot of soup Andrew left, a post-it stuck to it admonishing him to “heat it in a pot not in the microwave like a heathen.” Adam rolled his eyes, filled a bowl of soup and pushed it into the microwave. He finished his dinner (there was like, basil and white beans and tomatoes and sausage and - thyme? and it was incredible), chugged some water, and was at Ronan’s door by 8. 

Ronan had his finger to his lips when he opened the door. “Neil’s napping,” he said quietly, tossing a look over his shoulder. Adam could see Neil’s auburn hair peeking out the side of the couch, and he stepped forward a bit to see over the back. The TV was on low, flickering light across the room and across Neil’s sleeping face. 

Adam didn’t see Neil much, and when he did he was always on the go: moving, running, never still. He figured between classes and track practice that his schedule was pretty stacked - student athletes generally had every moment of their day mapped out for them. In fact, student athletes usually had to live in the dorms - something Adam had wanted to ask Ronan about, but he kept forgetting. At night, Neil tended to be with Andrew when Adam was with Ronan, and so...there was that. 

Neil was curled up on his side, hand clutching his phone. He looked so small and young, the slashed scars marking this side of his face doing nothing to take away from his rather striking beauty and - if anything - they somehow added to it. He wasn’t surprised Neil had caught Andrew’s eye, and he felt a strange rush of protective fondness for this kid - he wasn’t entirely sure if it was for Ronan’s sake, or Andrew’s, or both. 

“Stop staring at my brother, asshole,” Ronan murmured, wrapping his arm around Adam’s waist and pulling him towards his room. 

“I can’t help it,” Adam huffed a laugh, “he’s like a really cute puppy.”

Ronan snorted softly, “yeah, fair point.”   
  
They made it to the bed and collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs, not kissing yet, faces close together, just breathing. Ronan had flecks of white paint all over his face and down his arms, strips of it peeling from his fingers. Adam traced the spots on Ronan’s face and then tapped along his arm, following the trail down to his wrist before grabbing his hand and pulling it up towards their faces. 

“Painting a monochrome?” he teased. 

Ronan winked back at him. “No. Well maybe. You’ll see.” 

Adam started picking at the paint on Ronan’s fingers, dropping little pieces of dried latex on the comforter. “A surprise? Is it a life-sized portrait of me? Adam in shades of white?”

Ronan hummed a little, pressing his face closer to Adam’s. “Asshole,” he said softly, before taking Adam’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulling gently. A small gasp escaped him and Ronan grinned around Adam’s captured lip and that was all it took for Adam to lose all of the thoughts in his head about lucid dreaming that he’d wanted to tell Ronan about.

Adam freed his bottom lip and pushed Ronan onto his back, climbed on top of him and kissed him, softly, just lips, the tip of his tongue tracing Ronan’s mouth greedily. He tangled those paint covered fingers in his and trapped Ronan’s hands over his head on the bed with one hand, and slid the other down, down, and then up under his black t-shirt. 

Adam deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping inside to curl around Ronan’s, and he swallowed the answering growl he found there. Adam sighed softly, working his way from Ronan’s mouth along his jaw, pressing small wet kisses there, finding his neck with his teeth and nipping gently, then sucking and lapping his way down to collarbones, the hollow in his throat, before leaning back up to take over Ronan’s mouth. 

Adam rocked his hips and a groan escaped from Ronan as he bucked up against him, sneaking his hands free from Adam’s grasp and burying them into Adam’s hair. Adam could feel him hard beneath him, feel their cocks pressed together and _god_ , Adam wanted, he _wanted_. 

He pulled Ronan’s shirt over his head and off, tossing it to the floor. His hands and lips were greedy, trying to devour every inch of him, working his way down, down - all hot skin and hard lines and tattoo ink bleeding into the corners. Adam palmed Ronan through his jeans, nipping him at the top of his hip, and Ronan bucked against him again and Adam thought he would die right there from how responsive this man was to him.

“I want,” Adam whispered against Ronan’s belly, nipping his hip again, not even realizing he was going to say it out loud until he did, hooking his fingers under the waist of Ronan’s jeans, undoing the button, asking a question. 

“Yes, Adam, fuck!” Ronan gasped back, and Adam hummed, taking that as permission to take him apart with his mouth and his hands and to swallow him whole. 

Later, much later, their lips kiss-bruised and their bodies languid, Ronan and Adam lay side by side on the bed, fingers hooked loosely, tracing patterns in the air together. Most of the dried paint had rubbed off of Ronan’s fingers and lay strewn about the bed, and bits of it tangled in Adam’s hair. They were drifting and floating and then Ronan said, “stay?”

Adam turned towards his boyfriend - _his boyfriend_ \- and nodded. They took turns in the bathroom to clean up a bit, Ronan loaning him sweats and a t-shirt, and they quickly snuggled back into the bed. 

“I’ll dream again,” Ronan said quietly, as they settled into each other. “But you’ve seen it now and...that’s as bad as it gets, really.”

Adam pulled back so he could see Ronan’s face and gauge his reaction before he said, “actually I have some ideas to try. I did some research today on -” Adam interrupted himself with a yawn that had been fighting it’s way up. 

Ronan grinned softly back at him. “Okay,” he said. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow.”

Adam yawned again and nodded sleepily. “Tomorrow,” he agreed, falling asleep feeling safe.


	9. Nightmare

The dream had changed. The dream had changed. The dream had changed. It was night, the white Mitsubishi glowed in the moonlight ahead of him and Ronan’s feet wouldn’t move any faster, just slow as molasses through the thick Southern summer air. The stars were swirling above and there were crickets singing and the closer he got to the car the louder they got until he was reaching up to cover his ears but his hands never reached his head.  _ Adam. _ Adam was here.  _ Why was Adam here? _ Ronan shook his head but the crickets got louder, drowning out his thoughts and his feet were stuck to the ground. 

Kavinsky had Adam pinned to the side of the car, and he was kissing him, he was kissing him, Kavinsky was kissing Adam and then suddenly he flipped them around, he looked up, he looked at Ronan, right in Ronan’s eyes. Adam was plastered against Kavinsky and Ronan’s feet were concrete and Kavinsky settled his chin on Adam’s shoulder, grinning wretchedly with every single one of his teeth as he raised the flaming bottle up in the air. 

The dream had changed, but it still ended how it had ended in real life: Kavinsky dropped the grin, and then he dropped the molotov cocktail at their feet, and he and Adam exploded into flames. 

Ronan burst out of the dream, not frozen but his mind on fire, eyes open but unseeing, lurching as he tumbled out of his room, headless of Adam calling his name from the bed behind him. Those flames engulfed his heart and his lungs and he was blind, clawing, gasping, and he had to escape or he was going to burn the world down. He crashed into the front door, scrabbling at the handle, getting it open and half falling down the flights of stairs, spilling out into the parking lot below, desperate for the cold air, the unlimited sky, running away or towards anything he could that wasn’t on fire. Ronan exploded into the night, and in front of him he saw Kavinsky and Adam and the white car but this time his feet could move, and he was storming forward, hands tightening into fists. 

~

Andrew dragged himself from Neil’s lips as he heard the stairwell door slam open behind him, turned his head, saw Neil’s brother, saw his face twisted in rage, could only process to shove Neil behind him before Ronan reached them, grabbed the front of Andrew’s shirt, and punched him in the fucking face. 

_ Mother fucker. _ Andrew’s head snapped back, his hearing went static, and his body slammed up against Neil, pushing him into the side of the Suburban. In the space of a second he got his legs back underneath him, launched forward, barrelled into Ronan and then crashed his fist into his nose with a sideways uppercut that crunched sickeningly. 

The sickening sound cleared Andrew’s head, crystal-cleared it, and suddenly everything was in slow motion. He saw Adam burst out of the door to his right, heard Neil shouting Ronan’s name behind him, felt the adrenaline drop like a stone into his gut. This was Adam’s Ronan. This was Neil’s Ronan. Andrew was pretty fucking sure he’d just broken the man’s nose, and fists were flying at his face again.  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck.  _

Andrew ducked, crossed his forearms in front of his head and backed up a step. Goddamned asshole knew how to punch and his fist snaked around Andrew’s arms and caught him in the side of the head. Only the glance off his elbow kept that from being a full-on concussion waiting to happen. Andrew backed up another step, and Ronan landed a punch below his guard, straight to his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs, and Andrew was going down to his knees, his ear burning where Ronan’s had decked him. 

Suddenly Neil darted around him, pushing in front of him, and threw himself at Ronan, wrapping arms around his brother and they went flying backwards. Andrew saw Ronan’s head hitting the concrete, heard Neil repeating Ronan’s name over and over. It sounded muffled through the buzzing in his head. He desperately sucked the air back into his lungs, forcing them to inflate faster, gasping harder. Andrew looked over to Adam, who was frozen, stock still, outlined in the streetlight, his face a mask of shock.  _ Fuck.  _

Nobody was moving, apparently Andrew had to do  _ everything. _ Air finally back in his lungs, he pushed off his knees, leaning on the side of the Suburban for a minute, then started to walk over to Neil and Ronan. Adam took a step forward, a hand raised in his direction. 

“Andrew,” Adam croaked out, “he wasn’t awake. Andrew…”

Andrew glanced at Adam briefly, his could feel his face going blank, knew he couldn’t stop that right now, so he made himself nod at his friend. He turned and crouched down slowly next to Neil and Ronan. Neil was straddling Ronan on the ground, his hand cradled behind his brother’s head. Ronan’s eyes were wide open, fully fucking awake, and full blown with panic. Blood was smeared down his mouth, flowing from his nose. Neil was murmuring softly: “Ro, it’s okay, I’ve got you, Ro, you’re okay, you’re awake, I’m okay, he’s not here, he’s not here, I‘m here, it’s okay.” 

Andrew pressed his hand to the back of Neil’s neck and squeezed until he looked at him. Neil’s eyes were hooded, but Andrew gazed back with clear eyes, a promise, before he looked at Ronan. “Can you sit up?” he asked. Ronan stilled, wary, but he nodded briefly, his breath still short but the panic receded a bit from his eyes. Neil scooted back off of his brother’s legs and he and Andrew managed to pull Ronan forward to sitting. 

Andrew slid his eyes back to Neil again. “Do you know how to check for a concussion?” 

Neil nodded once but then shook his head,“His head didn’t hit the ground, I had my hand there.” 

Andrew stared at him impassively. “Let me see it.” Neil lifted his left hand and turned it over, placed it in Andrew’s. The skin had split across Neil’s knuckles, as if he’d been the one throwing punches, and his hand had already started to swell.

Ronan moaned wretchedly at the sight of Neil’s hand and dropped his head between his knees. “It’s fine, Ro,” Neil said, curling his injured hand in towards his chest and pressing his other hand to the back of Ronan’s head again. Andrew watched them for a moment and then got up again, putting himself in front of Adam.

“Hey,” he said. Adam was still frozen to the spot, staring at Ronan and Neil. Andrew could see his friend crumpling in on himself. “Hey,” Andrew said again, snapping his fingers in front of Adam’s face. “Get it together.” Adam turned haunted eyes on him, and Andrew’s chest clenched and he had to shove down his anger. He gripped Adam’s shoulder. “Whatever is going through that head of yours, stop it. I’m fine, Ronan is fine. Everyone is fine.” Adam nodded at him, but the dull look didn’t leave his eyes. Andrew sighed, decided to give him something to do. “Take Neil to our place, clean his hand and get some ice on it. Figure out if it’s broken.” 

Adam straightened a bit at that. “But Ronan…” 

“I’ve got Ronan,” Andrew assured him calmly. “It’s going to be okay. Hey,” he said, as Adam’s eyes started to slide away from his again towards the brothers, that worry crease appearing on his brow. “I’ll fix it. I promise. Just get Neil.”

Neil hesitated when Adam’s intentions to drag him away from his brother became clear. He locked eyes with Andrew again, Andrew’s eyes still clear, still a promise. Neil’s face was shuttered, but he was strangely calm, and he finally turned and followed Adam to the apartment without a word. 

~

Ronan didn’t have the energy to protest Adam and Neil leaving him there with Andrew. Elbows propped on his knees, head hung down between them, he watched his blood fall drop by drop to the asphalt. It looked black where it started to pool together. Drip, drip...drip. The drops were slowing. He supposed that was a good thing - if anything could be a good thing right now. 

Ronan scrubbed his hands behind his head, gripping his skull with tense fingers. The details were fuzzy, but he was pretty fucking sure he just tried to beat up his brother’s boyfriend, who just happened to be his boyfriend’s best fucking friend.  _ Fuck, _ this was so not okay. He clenched his fingers tighter as he tried to push the confusion away. He didn’t remember coming outside, he didn’t remember punching Andrew, but that didn’t mean they’d forgive him for it. That didn’t mean he’d forgive himself. Adam hadn’t even been able to make himself come near him, he had just left him here, and the look on Neil’s face...the first thing Ronan had seen when he snapped out of it, that look was seared onto his heart…

“Ronan,” Andrew’s low, calm voice broke into his spiral. He looked up. Andrew was staring down at him, hand extended. Ronan couldn’t make himself take the man’s hand, but he did manage to push himself up off the ground. Andrew shrugged and pointed at the back of his giant SUV and told him to sit. Andrew had raised the back door, and interior light was glowing softly and because he didn’t know what else to do, Ronan walked over and sat down on the tailgate. Andrew disappeared for a minute at the front of the car and then came back with a pack of cigarettes and an unopened fifth of Johnnie Walker. He screwed off the top and took a deep pull before handing it to Ronan. 

Ronan was confused as fuck, but he took the bottle and wiped the blood off his lips with the back of his hand before taking his own long swallow. He shuddered - it had been a long while since he had let himself have anything more to drink than a beer, and for a sickening moment the taste of the whiskey reminded him of Kavinsky’s mouth pressed hungrily against his, their teeth violently clashing. He took another angry swallow just to spite himself before handing the bottle back to Andrew and wrapping his bare arms around his chest. At least he hadn’t been sleeping naked, thank fuck. 

“You are a disaster,” Andrew finally said, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. 

Ronan bristled, fought back what he had no right to say, realized what he really wanted to do was apologize, and he hated himself for it. Instead he bit out a terse “fuck you.” 

Andrew shook his head, blowing smoke out slowly. “No, actually, fuck you,” he said, but it was still in that low, calm voice. Andrew stepped right in front of him. Ronan tensed. This was all so weird, and he was fucking miserable and exhaused and angry all at the same time. Andrew dropped his cigarette and stomped it out, blowing smoke in Ronan’s face. He lifted his hands up between them and paused. “Can I touch your face?” he asked. 

“I’m pretty sure you already touched it with your fist,” Ronan snarked, but Andrew didn’t respond, just stood there, hands still raised between them. Finally Ronan muttered, “Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

Andrew brought his hands up and pressed fingers on either side of his nose, his head cocked a little to the side. He wasn’t gentle, and it hurt like a bitch, but Ronan refused to react, refused to flinch as each touch shot a spike of pain into his face. He deserved the pain. 

“It’s broken,” Andrew concluded, stepping away from him. “But it’s straight enough, you don’t need to have it set.” 

“What are you, a doctor?” Ronan huffed a little pathetically. “It’s not like this is the first time my nose has been broken.” Andrew didn’t reply, just pulled another cigarette out and lit up as he settled back on the tailgate. He offered Ronan the bottle again, and Ronan just stared at him. 

Ronan wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, and there was no way he was letting himself do either, and Andrew was just sitting there, collected, cool about it all, even with the bruise already starting to bloom across his jaw from Ronan’s fist. Frustrated, Ronan rasped out, “Fuck Andrew, how are you so calm about this?”

“I’m not,” Andrew said, and then sighed, took another swig from the bottle, “We’re lucky it’s me you hit and not Adam or Neil. You don’t even know how lucky we are.” Ronan stared at him intently and caught the briefest glimpse of darkness and anger leaking from the man’s amber eyes before it was tucked away behind that wall of calm. 

“I wouldn’t have hit either of them, that’s fucking impossible,” Ronan muttered angrily. 

“Oh really?” Andrew said, some of that anger bleeding through and distorting the even tone of his voice. “And tell me the details of how you remember coming at me? You were fucking asleep Ronan. Or as good as asleep, with fists flying. You want to tell me about that?”

Ronan glared at him, then deflated a bit, slowly shaking his head miserably. He grabbed the bottle and took a deep swallow of the whiskey, winced and then stared at the ground. He didn’t want to believe there was any version of reality where he would hit his brother or Adam. Ronan would turn the world inside out to destroy anyone who hurt either of them, yet right now, he couldn’t promise that they were safe from  _ him _ when he was dreaming. He couldn’t even remember anything that had happened in this parking lot tonight until he woke with Neil sitting on him, Neil staring down at him with a dead look on his face. 

“Your shit is your shit to deal with Ronan,” Andrew said, “but you are important to the two people who are the most important to me. Unfortunately for you, that means I’m going to make it my business.” 

Ronan looked back up at him, his brow furrowed, his mind scrambling to make sense of what Andrew had just admitted about Neil. He wanted to push the point, he wanted to drag Neil far away from Andrew...but his brain was spasming, jumping from tight rope to tight rope, and he realized that Adam was quickly becoming that person for him, too.  _ The two most important people to me. _ Ronan was floored, overwhelmed, and on instinct he reached for his anger, spitting back at Andrew, “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Clearly you can’t handle this on your own. So, get some help. It’s that simple.” Andrew stubbed out his cigarette and stood up again.

“What, like a shrink?” Ronan asked him incredulously. 

“Sure,” Andrew agreed, not taking the bait, “or a counselor, a therapist, whatever. I can recommend mine if you want.” 

Ronan didn’t reply, just kept staring at Andrew with a stupid look on his face. Andrew pushed on, “A deal Ronan. I will make a deal with you. Three things. See a counselor who can help you with this,” Andrew pushed a finger at the side of Ronan’s forehead and Ronan steeled himself not to flinch away. “Two, let Adam help you with the dream stuff.”

“I was going to do that anyway,” Ronan said, batting Andrew’s finger away from his temple. “The fuck is the third thing?”   


“Fight me. Once a week, we fight.”

Ronan choked a bit at that. “Are you insane? I have over a foot on you.”

“And I broke your nose, so fuck you. Consider it bonding time - it’s time we got to know each other. You clearly need to get out some of that anger, and I need someone to practice with.”

Ronan considered him for a minute, realizing he didn’t have a handle on Andrew at all. He wondered vaguely if Neil did, knew that Adam must. There was more going on here than he had given the man credit for, and it felt dangerous and interesting all at the same time. Ronan wondered - not for the first time - about the twist of fate that had put the four of them in each other’s paths. 

“You mentioned a deal?” Ronan said, evading Andrew’s three things to buy himself some time to think. 

“Something from me, in return,” Andrew said. 

“I don’t want anything from you,” Ronan said, intending to be cruel, but it came out calm. Maybe Andrew’s calm was contagious. Maybe Ronan was starting to feel hysterical. This still felt surreal, he was still tired, his face still hurt, and he just wanted to curl up and hide. 

“Take it on credit then,” Andrew said after a moment of hesitation. “Within reason. I’m not giving you carte blanche, but…”

Ronan blew out a breath. He fucking hated therapy - he’d been court ordered to it when he first entered the foster system, and it had been twenty kinds of not helpful. He’d grinned through it, promised he was fine, and shoved everything in and down and wrapped it up in messy bows behind his heart. But now, shit was breaking free of its packaging and exploding all over his life, and fuck if he was willing to lose Adam over it - or worse and unforgivable - actually hurt Adam or Neil. And Adam...he’d willingly let Adam guide him into a fucking hurricane, so if he had a plan to help then...that was easy. And Andrew…Andrew was offering him a fight. A clean fight, a place to explode without hurting the ones that they both cared for, that they both wanted to protect.  _ Fuck. _ Fucking Andrew. He wasn’t wrong about any of this. Ronan wanted to punch him again just so he could remember it this time. 

“Fuck. Fine, okay. I agree.” 

Andrew nodded, and motioned with his head for Ronan to get up. He shut the back of the SUV, and with the whiskey bottle in hand, led the way to his apartment. Adam and Neil were sitting on the couch when they walked in, a pack of ice on Neil’s hand. Adam shot to his feet, his eyes flitting back and forth from Andrew to Ronan. Neil kept his gaze trained on Ronan’s face, still blank. Ronan’s heart sank lower into his gut, but he steeled himself. One thing at a time. He would fix this.


	10. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This follows immediately after the events in Chapter 9. <3

“Adam?” Ronan asked, putting several questions into his boyfriend’s name. Adam turned and walked into his bedroom and Ronan followed, shutting the door behind them. 

They stood facing each other. Now that he had him alone Ronan couldn’t figure out how to start. He paced to the other side of the room. He hadn’t been in Adam’s room before, and he hated that _this_ was the first time. The room was neat as a pin, the only furniture a double bed, a nightstand, a desk, and a small bookshelf. Not even a dresser. The walls were bare except for a dry erase board hanging over the desk. 

The biggest surprise though, were the plants. Like, everywhere. Three large pots sat under the window next to the bed, and some bushy, lush thing hung from the ceiling by the other window. There were succulents lining the sill of that window, and a few intensely spiky cacti. There were two plants on the edge of the tidy desk, and waxy leaves were overflowing their pots, reaching halfway to the floor. 

Staring at those happy little leaves Ronan suddenly felt overwhelmingly, inexplicably sad - it flooded him, slammed into his gut like a tidal wave in a way that he thought he’d put behind him. For one horrifying moment tears welled up in his eyes, and he turned farther away from Adam, clenching his jaw and staring down a cactus and forcing his eyes to stay dry. 

Ronan was exhausted and he was scared. He wanted to ask his boyfriend about all these damn plants, he wanted to bury his face into Adam’s neck, he wanted to sleep for a decade without fear of nightmares. Instead he was struggling to find the right words to keep his boyfriend from leaving him, to make sure he wasn’t scared of him, to try to explain away something he didn’t even remember doing. Ronan won the fight against his tears, but an odd choking sound escaped from his mouth and he hunched his shoulders protectively. He didn’t hear Adam cross the room, but he felt his firm grasp on his arm, let himself be turned around, didn’t shy away from Adam’s clear gaze. 

“Do you know what happened?” Adam asked, his hand still resting on Ronan’s shoulder.

Ronan was quaking inside. He took a shaky breath. “I don’t remember going outside, I don’t remember hitting Andrew,” he said, “But my dream. It changed, and - fuck, Adam. You were in it, and with Kavinsky and - ugh, fuck.” He shook his head. 

“It’s okay,” Adam soothed. He cocked his head, considering. “I’m not sure it’s a bad thing, that it changed.”

Ronan wrinkled his brow at him, “How the fuck could it not be bad? Look what just happened. Fucking hell, Adam, if you had seen your face...it’s like I-.”

“It’s like you what?”

“It’s like I broke your world or something,” Ronan managed weakly, and he hated how he sounded. It wasn’t just Adam’s frozen look of horror playing over and over in his head, it was Neil’s blank, dead expression, his eyes shut down, the spark extinguished. It was the weight of how much he had fucked up dragging him down, and under, and the fear of losing this thing with Adam, a thing which had become the center of his universe so quickly that it stole his breath away. 

“This is not casual for me,” Ronan blurted out, and it wasn’t what he had been planning to say. Adam’s eyes widened a little bit. “You are not casual for me, I-” Ronan stopped, struggling for the words to show Adam. “If I broke your world I want to fix it. I will do whatever I have to do.”

Adam stared at him for what was almost too long of a moment before sighing, and he reached up to gingerly run his fingers across Ronan’s cheek, where bruising was starting to crawl across the rest of his face, spreading out from his broken nose. “You didn’t break my world, that happened a long time before I met you and it’s been mended for a long time, too. That doesn’t mean the cracks aren’t still there.” 

He dropped his hand from Ronan’s face, grasped his hip and pulled. Ronan let himself be pulled, until they were chest to chest, their hips pressed together. “This isn’t casual for me, either,” Adam whispered, and then he wrapped his arms around Ronan, and Ronan wrapped his arms around Adam, and they stood there, hearts thudding against each other, breath soft in their ears. 

After an infinity of moments, after their bodies reminded them that nothing had changed since they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, after Ronan’s heart had calmed to a reasonable speed, Adam led Ronan over to his bed and they sat, still pressed up against each other, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh.

“I’ve told you how Andrew and I met, about the youth home, but I never told you why I was sent there in the first place, and actually, thank you for that - for not asking me why,” Adam said. He wasn’t looking Ronan in the eye, and Ronan stayed silent, waiting. 

“My family, we were poor - poverty poor. Trailer park poor. Not enough to eat poor,” Adam’s lips tightened before he continued, “I don’t know if it was the poverty or just bad genes - but my father was violent. Unpredictably violent, as in I never knew what exactly would set him off, but predictable in his use of me and my mother as punching bags.”

Ronan was leaning into Adam, rigid, and still. A soft _fuck_ escaping his lips, but nothing else. He watched Adam, waiting still, and Adam kept his gaze on his knees as he gestured at the left side of his face. “That’s why I can’t hear out of this ear - because of him. The last night I ever saw my father he’d been laid off from his job and he’d been drinking all day. I went to work after school, I came home…” Adam paused again. Ronan took his hand and Adam looked up at him. “There’s nothing I could have done to stop it. He was waiting for me on the porch of our trailer, and he beat me until I hit my head on the railing and blacked out. A neighbor saw it all and for once called the cops. My father left me there - crumbled up on the ground - and dragged my mother into the car with him. He didn’t make it very far before the crash. A telephone pole of all things. They said my mother didn’t have her seatbelt on, they said she didn’t suffer.”

Adam swallowed, holding Ronan’s gaze. “I woke up in the hospital. My father went to prison. A month later they sent me to Westbrook, I met Andrew, and, well.” 

“Jesus fuck Adam,” Ronan breathed. He was livid. He wanted to hunt down Adam’s father and burn him down, break every bone in his body.

“Ronan, I wanted you to know, because if you saw something in my face before, it was a ghost of my past, a ghost of that old fear. But it’s not me, it doesn’t control me, I am not _that_ Adam anymore,” he reached up and pressed his hand into the side of Ronan’s neck, “I’m not scared of you and I’m going to help you fix this. My world is not broken and neither is yours.”

Ronan stared back at him intently. “I would never hurt you. I would never hit you. I would kill anyone who tried.”

“I know.”

“I would kill your father. I want to kill him, for what he did to you.” Ronan breathed.

Adam huffed a humorless laugh, “You’d have to get in line behind Andrew.”

“Adam. I’m sorry.” This Ronan said so quietly. 

Adam’s fingers brushed softly along his jaw. “I know.” he said. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to help you.”

“And apparently so is Andrew,” Ronan said with a twinge of irritation. 

Adam smiled at that, which turned into a yawn. “Good,” he said. “So go home, try to put some ice on your face. Then go to bed, you look like shit.” He softened that statement by leaning forward and kissing Ronan ever so gently on the side of his jaw, avoiding the blood and bruising around his nose. Ronan closed his eyes briefly, stunned and oh so incredibly grateful that somehow he still got to keep _this._ He brushed his thumb against Adams lips, searing a promise there, and stood up. 

When Ronan stepped out of Adam’s room, he looked for Neil on the couch where he left him, and paused. Neil and Andrew had been talking for six months, and they’d been officially dating for almost two. Abstractly Ronan knew that meant intimacy on some level, some sort of connection, some sort of touching. In reality, he’d never seen them touch, couldn’t imagine Neil letting Andrew in, couldn’t imagine Andrew being soft with Neil. Clearly, seeing the two of them together earlier had set something off in him, but Ronan couldn’t remember it and it didn’t prepare him for now - when he was awake and raw and _seeing._

Neil and Andrew were both sitting cross-legged on the couch, knees touching, their foreheads pressed together, eyes closed. Neil’s injured hand was on his thigh, and Andrew was holding the ice pack on top of it. Andrew’s other hand was behind Neil’s head, buried in his hair, fingers moving slowly back and forth. 

“Neil,” Ronan said. His brother lifted his head and looked up at him, and he smiled. _He smiled._ Ronan wasn’t sure he deserved that smile, but it melted some of the fear from his heart and he couldn’t help himself from grinning back a little. Fucking ridiculous, maybe he really did have a concussion; surely there was nothing to grin about...but...looking between his brother and Andrew, the softness there, Neil’s smile...well. Maybe there _was_ something there to grin about in the middle of all of this insanity after all. 

~

Neil followed Ronan up the stairs to their apartment. His hand still throbbed, but it was better after the ice, and he could flex all of his fingers. If something was broken it wasn’t _that_ broken, and he’d certainly had worse. 

Ronan was quiet in front of him, and he knew his brother was tired, but he needed to hear from his own lips that he was okay, that he wasn’t panicking. While Ronan had been in Adam’s room, Andrew had told him how he’d talked him down, that there was a plan, that he was going to help. That Adam was going to help. Neil trusted Andrew, but he knew there were things that needed to be sorted out between him and Ronan - things that Neil was only starting to put together himself. 

In their apartment, Ronan collapsed onto the couch, closing his eyes, tilting his head back and touching his nose carefully. Neil watched him for a moment, still standing in the doorway, and then locked the door and headed into the kitchen for a bag of frozen peas - frozen peas that they never actually ate, but that they kept around for Neil’s sore knees from running, or Ronan’s sore shoulder from painting, and apparently for broken noses from fighting with Neil’s boyfriend. 

“It looks pretty gross,” Neil said, kneeling on the couch next to Ronan and making sure his brother opened his eyes before he settled the bag of peas on his face. 

Ronan grunted softly in his throat, securing the bag on his face with a grimace. He peeked one eye open around the bag to look at Neil. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

He sounded stuffy, and Neil imagined the blood was congealing in his nose. Even through his concern the question annoyed him, and he bit out an “I’m fine.”

Clearly Ronan caught his tone, because he dropped the bag and looked at Neil full on. “I’m sorry,” he said, his look searching, his eyes tired. 

“No, that’s not…” Neil huffed with frustration and ran his fingers through his too-long hair. “I don’t need your apology, okay? Fuck, I mean...are _you_ okay?”

Ronan laughed a little at that, but he looked sad. “No, obviously I am not fucking okay.”

Neil nodded at that, pressing the bag of peas back into his hands. “I’m fine,” he said again, with less annoyance this time. “I’m not as fragile as you think I am, Ro,” his voice quiet and firm. 

Ronan stared at him. “Fragile?” he repeated, shaking his head slowly. “Oh Neil. Fuck Neil, when you get it wrong you get it so wrong.” He sat up a bit and turned, dropping the peas on the couch again. “You are the strongest person I have ever met. A survivor. It’s written across your body like a billboard and I am and have always been in awe of you. Have always thought…” Ronan paused, raking in a shuddering breath, “had always hoped one day I would learn to be as strong.”

Neil stilled at that, shocked, staring back at Ronan. “But you’ve always been so protective of me, so... _careful_ with me.” Neil struggled to put what he wanted to say into words, he frowned, gesturing helplessly. “It always feels like you are scared I am going to break, that you are nervous even to touch me. And tonight - I’m thinking that had something to do with what happened. Like you needed to protect me from Andrew.” 

His brother looked startled, opened his mouth, then closed it. Tried again. “I don’t know what was going on in my fucked up head, because I can’t remember. I was in my nightmare - and then I was on my back in the parking lot with you on top of me looking at me with the same dead face you wore when you walked into Abby and Wymack’s for the first time.”

“I don’t know what you mean. How was my face?”

“Just...you were shut the fuck down. Empty. You looked like that for months after...well, when I met you,” Ronan muttered and stood up, pacing back and forth in front of the couch. Neil tracked him with his eyes, waiting. “That’s the thing, from when I first met you. That look...your face. It wasn’t that I ever thought you were fragile, it’s that I wanted to see...I wanted to see you smile, see you feel safe. And your face has been different. Had. It _had_ been different, until tonight.” 

“I do feel safe with you.”

“Do you though?” The question tore out of Ronan, and he stopped pacing, looking down at his feet, his expression awful. “How could you, after what I just did?” he asked savagely.

Neil’s heart clenched a little, and he stood up, walking carefully over to stand in front of Ronan, held a hand in front of his face, and waited until Ronan returned his gaze. “There are real monsters out there, and once upon a time I thought they would kill me - once upon a time I _knew_ they would kill me. Yet somehow I lived, and I walked into your life. You’re right: I wasn’t fragile, but I was shut down. And I know I still do things wrong, because before our family, I never had anything normal. I’m an idiot and I’m a liar Ronan, but I’m not stupid. You would never hurt me.”

“It could have been you. I could have hit you. I have no idea…” Ronan broke off, choking on this truth. 

Neil shrugged, “So what if you had? You think I can’t handle a fist in my face?”

Ronan shook his head hard, started to speak, but Neil held his hand up again: “No, listen to me. I don’t know what happened tonight to make things different, but I do know that you weren’t awake when you came at Andrew, and I do know that if you had been it would never have happened. And if it had been me you came at? Fucking fine. We’d deal with it, and I still wouldn’t be scared of you. I would still feel safe with you. Your nightmares can’t break us Ronan. You are my brother.”

Ronan stared back intently at Neil for several long moments before he huffed out a tired laugh. “Apparently I think everyone’s broken, but really it’s just me.”

“Fuck you asshole, you aren’t broken,” Neil hissed, and before Ronan could say anything he wrapped his arms around him and hauled his brother in for a fierce hug. He heard Ronan squeak, and responded by tightening his arms. He felt Ronan hold his breath, felt him stiffen, and then like a dam breaking he melted around Neil, his arms wrapping around him protectively, his chin resting on his head. 

Ronan’s lungs emptied in one long stream, and then he dragged in more air desperately. “Neil, you are hugging me,” he breathed wonderingly. 

“No duh,” Neil muttered into his brother’s chest. “I told you: not fucking fragile.”

~

Neil leaned back against his brother’s bedroom door, that damned streetlight seeping in through the window. He’d dragged an exhausted Ronan into bed, promising to sit guard in case any more walking, fighting nightmares returned. 

They were supposed to leave for DC in a few hours for Thanksgiving break - to head home to their family. There was a new foster brother their adopted parents wanted them to meet, plus Declan would be home from his MBA program at Yale and they hadn’t seen him in almost a year. Neil had argued they needed to deal with this new development in Ronan’s nightmare before they went home, and his brother had agreed without a real fight - probably realizing that meant he wouldn’t have to explain his broken nose to Abby. 

Neil waited until Ronan’s breathing evened out in sleep, and then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was four in the morning. He’d have to wait to text Abby - she kept her phone on at night in case there was a crisis - not just with Ronan or Neil or Declan, but with any kid in need. She and Wymack kept a spare room ready at all times for minors in the system that had been arrested and released, for kids that needed a safe place to land while more permanent arrangements were made. Well, semi-permanent. Nothing was permanent in the life of a kid in the system. Yet somehow, Ronan and Neil had been lucky. He thought of Andrew. Andrew hadn’t been lucky, but somehow he’d built his own family with Adam, somehow he had been lucky enough to find a brother in the youth home. He’d never heard Andrew refer to Adam as his brother, but Neil knew that they were brothers - found family just as he and Ronan were. 

Neil tapped his phone, flipping to Andrew’s number, only pausing for second before texting: 

**[4:03am] Neil:** Are you still awake?

**[4:03am] Andrew:** no

Neil smirked to himself, then got to the point:

**[4:04am] Neil:** We’re not going to DC for Thanksgiving. 

**[4:04am] Andrew:** okay. come to ours on friday for food

**[4:04am] Neil:** Friday?

**[4:05am] Andrew:** yes. goodnight junkie.

**[4:05am] Neil:** Night Andrew.

Neil pushed his phone off to the side, knowing from experience that Andrew wouldn’t text again after he’d said “goodnight.” Taking his pilfered pillow and blanket he curled up in a ball with his back still to the door. From this position, Ronan couldn’t leave the room without waking him first, and Neil was strong - not fragile - he would hold the nightmares at bay for both of them.


	11. Thanksgiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to [makebelieveanything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makebelieveanything/) for the extra beta on this chapter! and as always to my betafish [grownupyaflover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grownupYAFlover/)

Not going to DC for Thanksgiving suddenly meant a whole week had opened up in front of them. When Neil texted that they were staying in Raleigh and why, Abby had insisted that he and Ronan Facetime with her and Wymack. They couldn’t really say no, which meant Ronan had to explain the broken nose and truly epic bruising that had spread to both sides of his face - it also meant that they had to fill their parents in on the whole “boyfriend” development. 

Abby had squawked and asked five hundred questions - most of which the brothers didn’t answer - while Wymack had just smiled impassively until Abby quieted down, finally telling them gruffly that he was happy for them. Seeing their faces and their unwavering support just made Neil realize how much he missed them. Even though it had been his idea to stay, in the light of day Neil felt a pang at the idea of missing Thanksgiving with his family. He reminded himself that Christmas break was only a month away, and they ended the call with promises to talk again on Thanksgiving day. 

Now, sitting at the table in Andrew and Adam’s small kitchen late on Friday morning, legs curled up underneath him and a warm mug of tea in his hand, Neil was glad they had stayed. He realized this was the first time the four of them were really and truly spending time together and it was...well, it was good. Somehow the night of Ronan’s nightmare and fight with Andrew had strengthened something between them, and oddly, things felt...right. 

Ronan was genuinely smiling for the first time in days, and both he and Adam were covered in flour as Adam showed Ronan how to make pie crust from scratch. Apparently making crust involved lots and lots of flour, and Ronan’s black t-shirt was slowly turning a streaky shade of grey. 

Neil had been banished from helping after Andrew had handed him an onion to peel and he’d stood over the trashcan trying to peel each delicate layer off bit by bit without cutting the ends off of the damn thing, growing more and more frustrated at his slow progress. When Andrew came over to see what was taking him so long, he’d snorted in derision and pointed at the kitchen table, telling Neil to “sit” before he deftly sliced each end of the onion off, scored the side, and then pulled the top layer bit loose in one fell swoop. _Oh, that’s how you do it._

Neil had been embarrassed about yet one more thing he didn’t know how to do for only a moment before Andrew had come over to hand him his tea and to briefly press his fingers into the back of Neil’s neck, gifting him with a tiny smirk. After that his boyfriend would find excuses here and there to bring Neil things to taste as he prepared them - a bite of creamed sweet potato flavored with cardamom, a scoop of bright red clove-scented cranberry sauce, and gruyere cheese sauce that Andrew made him lick right off the spoon. 

Jesus Christ Andrew could cook, and it was really _really_ sexy. 

Eventually Adam laughingly banished Ronan to the table too - something about being too distracting - and Ronan had joined Neil, flopping back in the chair next to him, his grin in place as he kicked his feet up into the chair across from him. They watched their boyfriends - _their boyfriends_ \- as they moved comfortably around each other. Adam was just pulling his pies out of the oven as Andrew was ready to put the turkey in. Everything was prepped for the most part, and it would be several hours before the turkey was finished and the girls would arrive. 

Andrew and Renee had started Friday Thanksgiving the first year he’d moved to Raleigh. Andrew had told Neil that Renee did have family - a mother - but that she went on mission trips to Africa every year in November. So, Renee and Andrew took up the Wednesday and Thursday shifts at Legends that no one wanted, which gave them a coveted Friday and Saturday off in a row. It had become a tradition, Andrew’s Thanksgiving recipes becoming more and more refined and delicious each year, and after stuffing themselves silly, it was also tradition to get quite drunk. Apparently this year Renee was bringing her new girlfriend - and all the alcohol. 

With the turkey in the oven, Neil and Ronan insisted on taking care of the mess - kicking Andrew and Adam out of the kitchen while they washed up. They stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink, Ronan working his way through the pile of dirty dishes while Neil dried them and created a new pile with the clean ones. Neil consciously leaned his shoulder into his brother’s arm here and there as they worked, and each time Ronan’s gaze would flicker to him and away, but he didn’t comment on it.

They had just about finished when Andrew came back into the kitchen, ran his hand along Neil’s lower back lightly in a way that made Neil shiver, and then tapped him on the shoulder with a pack of cigarettes. He nodded and they headed out to the parking lot, where Neil cocked his head towards the Suburban. They didn’t usually climb up on the roof in the daylight, but Andrew didn’t say anything about it and just hopped from the tire to the hood to the roof with Neil following behind. 

Andrew pulled out a cigarette for each of them and Neil smiled in thanks, cupping his hands around his chin and letting the smoke curl up around them. They sat there for a moment, Neil grappling with his words. It felt important but he didn’t quite get it yet, he needed to hash it out with Andrew, but he wasn’t sure where to start.

“I can hear you thinking,” Andrew murmured next to him. “It’s distracting.”

Neil tucked his chin and side-eyed his boyfriend. “Important things I am distracting you from, huh?”

Andrew snorted softly. “Yes. Alcohol and food. Vitally important.”

Neil grinned back at him and bumped his shoulder into Andrew’s before taking a pull on his cigarette to keep it lit. “Hey, you know how I can be dumb?”

The noise that came out of Andrew might not have started as a choking sound, but it got there quickly. 

“Fuck you asshole, no seriously,” Neil laughed and gave Andrew a minute to get his shit together. Andrew bumped Neil back in the shoulder, a silent cue to continue. 

Neil let out a long breath, bouncing his knee up and down before forcing himself to be still.

“So, I hugged Ronan the other night. And he kinda...I mean it seemed like a big deal. But really - I thought about it and realized that fuck - I had never been the one…” Neil paused, trying to figure out his words. He caught a look at Andrew and Andrew was staring at him intently, the hand holding his cigarette propped up on his knee forgotten, the ash drooping. 

“I have never been the one to hug him first,” Neil finally finished the thought and paused, thinking. “I just don’t think about those things, but it made him so happy.” He bumped his knee against Andrew’s, and they both tapped their ash off the sides, each taking a drag in unison. 

Andrew captured his gaze again, the tiniest eyebrow lift telling him to go on. “So like I said, I know I can be dumb - but clearly Ronan wants that from me and …. Fuck, I want that too. I just-,” Neil paused again, frustrated with his own words. 

Andrew flicked the end of his cigarette into the parking lot below and waited. _God_ he was so patient. Neil stared at him for a second, distracted, before collecting himself, and looking down he took a big breath and just launched into it. “I realized this week I don’t know what touch is supposed to look like. I don’t know anything about it except how to avoid it, how to hide from it - because until three years ago, the only purpose of touch I understood was to cause pain.” 

Neil looked at Andrew now and - _fuck_ \- how was this even a thing? He ploughed on. “Okay so, same with us, is what I am trying to say. Like…” Neil turned his eyes to Andrew, and every feeling he’d ever had tangled up in his throat, and he gave up on words, reached out, pausing just before pressing his palm to Andrew’s cheek.

“Yes,” Andrew huffed, eyes dropping down to Neil’s lips. Neil leaned forward, kissed him with all the words he didn’t know how to say, softly bit against Andrew’s lips, licked them, slid his hand around behind Andrew’s head as he swept his tongue into his mouth. 

The kiss was intense, searing, wanting, needy, and it was a kiss that sang _Andrew, Andrew, Andrew_ from his heart, stole the breath from his lungs, smattered the stars against his eyelids. 

He pulled back reluctantly, his eyes closed, their faces close, Andrew’s breath huffing raggedly against his cheek. “That’s what I am trying to say. I am not scared of your touch. I want your touch. I want everything with you.” 

Neil had opened his eyes and he was looking at Andrew’s lips and he knew he was blushing, but there, he’d said it, his cards were on the table. He wanted - _he wanted_ \- and he wanted Andrew to stop being so careful with him. He wanted to learn how to touch. 

Andrew’s fingers curled around his chin and tapped, and Neil looked up, and was branded by the look in Andrew’s eyes. His boyfriend considered him for a moment, and then reached up to touch his own spit-slicked lip before pressing the same fingers against Neil’s mouth. The gesture made Neil’s pulse stutter. 

“Okay,” Andrew said, before leaning forward to press a closed-mouth kiss against Neil’s lips, just next to his fingers. “Don’t drink too much tonight.” 

Confused at the turn of conversation Neil stared back at him. “I thought the tradition was to get drunk,” he said. 

“Change of plans,” Andrew said, pinning him with a look and punctuating it with one more harsh, claiming kiss. Oh. _Oh_. Neil grinned. After another cigarette in silence, the fingers of their empty hands twined together, they climbed down and headed inside.

~

Andrew was amused, which was good, because after that fucking conversation with Neil he needed a distraction - any distraction - until he could drag his boyfriend off alone without pissing everyone off. In fact, if it had just been the four of them, they would have left hours ago. So, the distraction - in the form of Renee’s girlfriend Allison - was a bit of a curse and a godsend all rolled into one. 

Adam had actually let the girls in when they arrived as Andrew had his hands full in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on everything, with Neil at his side busy being the wrong kind of distraction. The type of distraction that meant when Renee and Allison walked in, laden with bottles of liquor and wine, Andrew had just managed to tear himself away from Neil - who he had pinned to the wall and kissed thoroughly after the junkie had grabbed his hand and licked mashed potato off of his fingers. 

Andrew’s reflexes must have short circuited, because the Amazon woman who walked in next to Renee was wearing stilettos and he should have heard that staccato beat from the moment she walked into the apartment. Andrew blamed his unwittingly sexy boyfriend who had managed to break his brain with his talk of _wantings_ and _everythings_ and _fucking putting his fingers in his mouth_. Andrew stepped away from Neil, and noticed that Neil’s ears had turned bright red. Neil quickly ran a hand through his hair and then said, “Reynolds.”

Amazon woman snapped her mouth shut - which had been gaping open - and said, “Josten.” Her mouth started to curve into a wicked smile as she looked back and forth between Neil and Andrew. “Holy shit. I think you just made me a lot of money.” 

Neil groaned, Andrew squinted at her, and Renee cocked her head at her girlfriend. Adam and Ronan were standing behind them, twin quizzical looks on their faces, and more bottles in their hands that the girls must have handed off to them when they came in. 

“I take it you two know each other,” Renee said carefully, and Andrew noticed realization dawning on her face. Andrew had already reached a conclusion, based on the woman’s runner’s build and her use of Neil’s last name. 

“You’re on the team together,” Andrew said. 

“We’re on the team together,” Neil agreed. “The stupid, meddling team that bets on things that are none of their business.”

“Seriously Josten, you could have told me you were gay months ago - I’m the only one who took those odds and I would have split the pot with you.” Allison’s tone was teasing, and Andrew watched Neil’s ears somehow turn redder, but he wasn’t immediately snarking back. Interesting.

Neil groaned again. “I’m not - ,” he started to say, then trailed off, catching Andrew’s eye, confusion evident. Andrew shrugged - he wasn’t going to bail his boyfriend out of this one, and it wasn’t his place to define Neil’s sexuality. 

Fortunately for Neil, Renee seemed willing enough to come to his rescue. She stepped forward, a soft smile on her face, and set her armful of bottles on the table. “Andrew,” she said, nodding at him, “this is my girlfriend Allison.” She turned to Neil, reaching out a hand. “Hi, I’m Renee. I’ve heard so much about you, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

“Hi,” Neil said, all awkwardness, clasping her hand. “Yeah, same. I mean, to you too,” he stumbled through the introduction, ran a hand through his hair, and then finally laughed. “Ugh, okay so, that was fun - can we like, drink now?”

The rest of the afternoon came together quite smoothly, and Andrew was silently gratified, a warmth seeping through him as he watched his worlds colliding so easily, so comfortably. They had all eaten way too much, everyone throwing compliments Andrew’s way - his response always being about what he would tweak in the recipes for next year. 

Neil and Ronan had taken over the dishes again, kicking the rest of them out of the kitchen. Allison had busied herself concocting shots in the living room with Adam’s assistance - the two of them had hit it off when they realized they were both business majors, and they had taken to trying to line up layered shots on the living room table - an endeavor they were failing at miserably. 

“You could let us help,” Renee called over from where she and Andrew were propped up against the wall, arms crossed, watching them. 

Adam snorted - he was clearly already a little tipsy. “No way, you two are ringers. Ally and I got this.”

Allison raised an eyebrow at him, “Ally is it?”

Adam pointed at her with one finger but didn’t say anything. Allison shrugged and went back to trying to drip Bailey’s down the inside of the glass. 

Renee sighed. “I am so gone for that woman,” she said quietly to Andrew. 

Andrew nodded. He could see it in how Renee was already orbiting around her. She had never introduced him to anyone she was dating before so…that told him everything he needed to know. “I’m happy for you,” he said, and he meant it. 

“I’m happy for you too Andrew,” she said, her little serene smile creeping onto her face. “Looks like you two have sorted things out.”

Andrew nodded again. “We’re working on it.

“Voila!” Adam yelled triumphantly as he and Allison finally managed some semblance of layering in all six of the shot glasses. “Come on you losers, it’s time for shots.”

Hm, maybe Adam was actually past tipsy and well on his way to drunk. Andrew shoved off the wall as Ronan and Neil came out of the kitchen. Angling himself so that Ronan and Renee were in front of them, Andrew came up behind his boyfriend and nipped carefully at his neck, whispered in his ear, “Don’t forget, don’t get drunk.” Neil leaned gently back against him, and Andrew felt a shiver run through him. _Good._

They arranged themselves around the living room, laughing, taking shots and shit talking; Allison teased Neil mercilessly and it was a whole new dynamic to watch - Andrew was fascinated. Adam and Ronan had scooted closer and closer to each other with each shot that Adam took, until they were pressed together, Adam’s leg thrown over Ronan’s lap. At one point Allison leaned forward and suggested a game of Never Have I Ever, but at Neil’s horrified look Renee managed to distract her by prodding Allison into telling Adam about the business plan for her fashion line. Andrew could tell by the grateful look Neil threw her that Renee had just cemented their friendship in one fell swoop.

It was another two long hours before a smiling Renee pulled her very drunk girlfriend to her feet, wishing them all a goodnight. Adam was quite drunk himself, and Andrew caught Ronan’s eye. Ronan had stuck to wine and seemed to mostly have his shit together, but Andrew wanted to make sure that he was going to stick to his promise to sleep apart from Adam until he _really_ had his shit together. 

Ronan glared back at him, but nodded, kissing Adam shamelessly, whispered something in his ear, and then pulled apart. Adam saluted them all and then ambled into his bedroom, mumbling something soft and incoherent. Andrew didn’t miss the fond look Ronan sent after him before he said, “Yeah, it’s time, I’m exhausted, and still stuffed. Thanks guys, for having us,” he glanced over at his brother. “You coming Josten?” 

Andrew could almost hear Neil roll his eyes. “Don’t call me that asshole.” Ronan smirked. Neil cut his gaze to Andrew, and Andrew raised an eyebrow at him. 

Neil gave him a tiny nod and a small smile, and Andrew took that as a yes. “We’re going for a drive,” he said, throwing the words at Ronan but keeping his eyes on Neil. 

He could see Ronan hesitate out of the corner of his eyes, but finally he said, “Yeah alright - fucking be careful though,” and headed out. 

~

Andrew drove them out through the night to that same church parking lot - Neil had googled it and found out the little church wasn’t currently in use, and they’d decided to claim this spot as their own. Tonight they crawled into the back of the Suburban instead of the roof, and Neil realized that Andrew must have snuck out at some point over the evening because the spacious back of the SUV was filled with pillows and blankets and had been turned into the coziest nest Neil had ever snuggled into. 

“When did you do this?” Neil wondered out loud - not sure how Andrew could have gotten out the door with so many pillows without him seeing. 

“I’m magic,” Andrew said, stealing Neil’s words from the week before, leaning into him with a smirk. He pushed Neil back onto the pile of pillows and blankets, his fingers already reaching for the hem of Neil’s t-shirt, his eyes molten. “I still need your yes or no Neil. It’s not just for you. Yes?” 

“Yes,” Neil breathed as he lay back, raising his arms for Andrew to pull his shirt over his head. Once he was free of the material Neil felt the air on his skin, the overhead light of the car not quite as dim as he might want it to be, realizing all of his scars were highlighted - on display. 

Neil hesitated for just a moment, and Andrew hesitated above him in turn. Neil reached up, grabbing Andrew’s hand. “No, Andrew, it’s a yes for me, it’s just...new,” and then he pulled Andrew’s hand down, laying his fingers flat against the scars on his abdomen. Neil drew in a sharp breath, his gaze locked on Andrew’s. “This is…yeah, this is me, now.” 

Andrew gazed at him, and then he was leaning down, running his fingers along the most dramatic scar across Neil’s abdomen, kissing along that crooked line, and it was everything Neil could do not to moan stupidly. Those lips were working their way up Neil’s chest, seeking out every last one of Neil’s scars, smoothing and caressing and turning him inside out and it was almost too much. Neil couldn’t hold in the moan anymore and it was Andrew’s name on his lips.

Neil bucked his hips, and Andrew pressed back against him. “Shhhh, hold still. Still a yes?” he murmured the question, and Neil gasped back a _yes_ . Andrew slid his hands down Neil’s arms, circling around his wrists and raising them up above his head, holding them there, the warmth of his hands pressed against Neil’s skin and _fuck_ . He nipped at Neil’s collarbone and Neil bucked again and Andrew chuckled, rising up a bit to hover over Neil. Neil leaned up to run his tongue along Andrew’s bottom lip, and Andrew growled - he _growled_ \- holy fucking Christ - before his tongue was there, sweeping into Neil’s mouth and it was - _it was everything_ \- and how had he not thought to want this before? 

Neil writhed, feeling heat build, and this time he felt his hard cock pressing up against Andrew’s and it was electrifying. He did it again, wrapping one leg around Andrew and grinding, but suddenly Andrew pulled his lips away from him and stilled. Neil registered the change in a daze, vaguely realizing something might be wrong. “Andrew?” he asked.

“Yes, Neil, it’s okay, it’s still yes,” Andrew’s cheek was pressed to his, his breathing ragged in Neil’s ear and Neil felt alive. Andrew pulled back. He was straddling Neil, and in the interior lights Neil’s fuzzy brain thought that he looked like a Norse god: haughty and bold and golden. 

Neil reached forward carefully, fingers edging the hem of Andrew’s hoodie. “Can you…?” he asked, not finishing his question, but Andrew’s look telling him all he needed to know. Andrew reached down and grabbed his hoodie and the t-shirt underneath, pulling them both over his head quickly, without hesitation, his skin pale in the light, paler in contrast to the black armbands on his arms. The look he gave Neil was both defiant and vulnerable.

“You’re beautiful,” Neil breathed, and then immediately he blushed. 

Andrew huffed a quiet laugh at him. “Idiot,” he said. He leaned down slowly, so slowly, and captured Neil’s lips again, kissing him deeply, thoroughly, before letting go of his wrists, breaking the kiss to say, “Keep your hands above my waist.” 

Neil nodded, managed a “Yes,” and brought his hands up to card through Andrew’s hair.

Andrew shifted above him, adjusting the angle, and when he leaned down to kiss him again he rolled his hips. “ _Fuck,_ Andrew,” Neil moaned, pressing up against him in return, and that was -

Andrew rolled his hips again, and again, and Neil was overwhelmed - but he liked it, fuck that, _he loved it_ \- drowning in the feel of Andrew’s skin on his and he was on fire, and the fire was consuming him and - 

Neil’s orgasm rushed over him, surprising him, and Andrew chased his moan back into his mouth as he ground his hips against him one more time before tensing above him, following him over the edge. He tucked his face into Neil’s neck as he shuddered, and Neil’s mind was blank, wiped clean in the most delicious way. He would offer himself up on a platter for this, and he couldn’t breathe and he didn’t care - who needed to breathe when there was Andrew, _there was Andrew_ , and this was it, this was all, this was what he wanted.

Andrew kissed his neck a few times as his breath settled, then pulled back, laying next to Neil in their little nest; they were quiet, the crickets chirping outside the Suburban like that hadn’t just _happened_ , like nothing had _changed_. Neil reached his fingertips and found Andrew’s hand, hooking their fingers together, and he made a small humming noise - incapable of anything else. 

Eventually Andrew reached back under one of the pillows and pulled out a hand towel, dropping it on Neil’s chest. Ah. Yeah. That. They cleaned themselves up as best as they could, and then pulled on their hoodies, deciding without words to crawl up to the roof and huddle under the stars. Andrew lit two cigarettes for them, like he always did, and they smoked in silence, shoulder to shoulder, fingers intertwined, until the cold November air sent them home. 


End file.
